


The End Of Paralysis

by hunterfics



Category: Phandom/The Fantastic Foursome (YouTube RPF)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Historical, Angst with a Happy Ending, Blow Jobs, M/M, Mild Smut, No Major Character Death, Phandom Big Bang, Vietnam War, that's. basically it with the smut., this starts really sad but it gets a lot happier i PROMISE
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-17
Updated: 2015-10-17
Packaged: 2018-04-26 04:10:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 21,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4989682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hunterfics/pseuds/hunterfics
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They keep swaying to the music as it pours slow and rich through the record player and Dan wishes they could stop time and stay in this moment forever. He’s so in love. He’s so in love and Phil loves him back and this is more than Dan had ever dreamed of back in Nebraska, more than he could have imagined ever happening to him. He never would have anticipated feeling this steady and safe in the arms of someone else, and now it's being knocked away.</p><p>(or, the one where Phil gets drafted and Dan gets left behind)</p>
            </blockquote>





	The End Of Paralysis

**Author's Note:**

> So here it is. This fic is my baby. It started as an iPhone note that I wrote on a plane and it's ending here, 21 thousand words and three all-nighters later. I am so, so proud of this.
> 
> Huge thanks as always to [Michelle](http://thatsmistertoyou.tumblr.com/), who inspires me every day to push myself and write beyond my expectations of myself. You were the first person to tear up from reading this fic and your encouragement and excitement kept me going every time I hit a rough patch. I love u.
> 
> Obviously, huge thanks also to my lovely beta, [Whitney](http://galaxyphan.tumblr.com/), who believes far more in me and my writing than I do. You are a sunbeam. Thank you for everything.
> 
> AND thank you to my artist, [Alex](http://philslesters.tumblr.com/), who threatened me with death every time I added a scene, but in a loving way. She also drew some really stunning art, which you can see [here](http://philslesters.tumblr.com/tagged/teop/) . Thanks baaaaabe I love you and I may or may not have cried when I saw your character sketches.
> 
> And finally (we get it Hunter, let's finish it up), thank you. Thank you for reading and for commenting and for giving me a way to write things like this. You all make me incredibly happy and I really hope you like this fic as much as I do.
> 
> (come say hello on [tumblr](http://hearteyeshowell.tumblr.com/)! and please please please reblog the fic [here](http://hearteyeshowell.tumblr.com/post/131355516564/title-the-end-of-paralysis-word-count-21839))

Dan and Phil eat breakfast together every morning before Phil leaves for work. It's a nice way to start the day, a routine that they stick to because it gives them time to be together, a few precious moments of calm before they dive into their busy days. They sit at the table by the window in Phil's tiny kitchen and drink coffee and bicker gently over who gets to look over the comics first. Sometimes Dan does last-minute reading for one of his classes, and every few weeks Phil will finish off a letter to his parents up in New Hampshire while he sips his morning coffee, but no matter what they're doing, they always do it together. It feels safe, and it's one of Dan's favorite traditions that they share.

It's a Monday morning in November and he's halfway through his first cup of coffee, his eyes skimming over a review of _The Lion In Winter_. The radio's on, so quiet that it's not much more than a hum in the background. Pale sunlight is trickling through the gauzy curtains and stretching over the grain of Phil's little round dining table, staining it golden brown.

"I, um." Phil pauses and Dan looks up from the newspaper, mildly surprised at the suddenness of Phil's voice cutting through the morning. Phil's staring down at the half-full mug of coffee clutched between his hands. "Can you pass the sugar?"

"Am I not sweet enough for you?" Dan teases lightly, pushing the sugar bowl across the table. Phil's smile is halfhearted and it falls quickly. He doesn't bother to do anything with the sugar, doesn't even pick it up. A knot of something cold and slimy begins to form in Dan's stomach.

"Dan," Phil starts, and Dan thinks he knows what's coming but it can't yet, he can't, this can't - "Dan, I got drafted." No. "I'm leaving in three weeks."

It's - it's nothing, it feels like nothing, it feels like Dan's been wiped blank, like everything has fallen away. He's cold to his core, the wintery sunlight that's streaming through the gauzy kitchen curtains dimming as a cloud passes by.

"Oh, hell," he breathes, and his voice catches and his chest feels like it's crumbling. There's a sudden ripping noise as his clenching fingers tear through the comics. "Oh, fucking hell, Phil."

"I know," Phil says. His voice is quiet and calm, his face arranged into placid acceptance. "I'm - I know. I'm sorry."

Dan swallows hard and shakes his head. There's a buzzing in his ears that's making him a little frantic.

"It's not your fault, I - how long have you...?" He trails off, sets down the shredded newspaper and stares at Phil's fingers where they're still wrapped tight around his coffee mug. The whiteness in Phil's knuckles is the only evidence that something life-shattering is happening.

"I got the letter last week," Phil breathes. It's a punch to Dan's gut.

“Last week?" he repeats, slow and aching. Phil nods.

"On Wednesday."

Wednesday. Five whole days that Phil knew and Dan didn't. Five whole days that they spent doing utterly ordinary things, laundry and grocery shopping and schoolwork, listening to records in the evenings and waking up early enough to kiss sweet and slow before Phil dressed up nice and went into work and Dan went to class and worked on his research paper. Five whole days in which Dan just cruised along. God, when was the last time Dan told Phil he loved him?

He tries to say it now but all that falls out of his mouth is a croaky, drawn-out "fuck."

"I'm sorry," Phil says again, and he sounds it, the words soft and sad. Dan shakes his head and buries his head in his hands, presses the heels of his palms against his eyes until pinpricks of color bloom across the darkness behind his eyelids. He feels, distantly, as though he should be crying.

"Three weeks?" he asks.

"Yeah," Phil whispers. There's a sharp knot in Dan's throat now and he nods, pushes his fingers through his hair and sits up straight. Everything in their little home is very still. He can feel his pulse in his fingertips.

"Okay," he says. "Okay." He tries to settle himself into acceptance. This is real. They can't avoid this. "Okay. Three weeks is ages. Okay." Maybe if he says this is okay enough times it'll come true.

"Dan," Phil starts, but Dan pushes ahead. He needs to do something, has to pretend he's in control of this.

"Do your parents know?" he asks, and Phil pauses, then nods. Something falls hard in Dan's chest but he ignores it, presses on. That's what you do, in a war.

"I called them on Thursday," Phil says before Dan can ask. "They, uh. Ma cried, but that's what mothers do, huh?" He smiles gamely. "Dad said he was proud of me, proud that I was doing this for our country."

"You're not doing shit for our country," Dan mumbles. "The war's fucking bullshit, Phil, it's fucking imperialism, come on." It's not even anger, none of the usual bitterness that Dan feels when he thinks of the pointlessness of all those lost lives. It's just quiet resignation. It's just weary acceptance weighing down on Dan's shoulderblades.

"It's easier to pretend I will be," Phil says. He looks up from his coffee cup, finally, and his eyes glint soft and silvery-blue beneath his glasses. Something in Dan's throat melts hot and he feels his eyes prickle. Oh god, he can't cry. Not now. Not ten minutes before Phil leaves for work. He just has to last ten minutes.

"Fuck, Phil," he says, and his voice cracks, and he stands up abruptly. He needs to go somewhere, do something so he doesn't lose it. He's gonna fucking lose it.

"Baby," Phil murmurs, reaching out his hand, but Dan can't. He turns away, takes a deep slow breath that shudders through his lungs. His eyes are burning.

"I'm gonna take a shower," he says numbly. "See you when you get home from work."

He leaves Phil in the kitchen, makes his way to the bathroom and turns the water on too hot. Steam billows through the room and Dan doesn't bother getting in, just watches his reflection disappear as the mirror fogs over. He looks so young. Christ, he _is_ so young, and he could be next. He could get drafted. He could die. Phil _has_ been drafted and Phil's leaving in three weeks and he's known since Wednesday and there's a good fucking chance he won't come back.

Dan hears the front door open and then close and that's when he cries, painful jagged sobs that rip out of his throat and get caught in the steam from the still-running shower. He slumps against the wall and leans his head against it, staring up at the light on the ceiling and letting tears drip down his cheeks. His nose is snotty and his bones feel weak and this shouldn't happen, not to Dan, not to people Dan loves. Not to Phil.

By the time he forces himself into the shower the water's running lukewarm, so he washes off quickly, doesn't linger or enjoy it the way he usually does. He wraps himself in one of the fluffy green towels he and Phil bought together a few months ago and stumbles down the hall to Phil's bedroom, to the bedroom Dan has essentially claimed as his own. He technically lives in student housing but he hasn't been in the dorms for longer than a few hours in months. Most of his stuff is here now. He used to get a thrill of pride when he thought about that, about how firmly he's lodged himself in Phil's life. About how permanent all of this feels.

Felt, now. None of it is permanent anymore.

He falls into Phil's side of the bed and buries his head in Phil's pillow. Breathes deep. The fabric smells like the shampoo they both use and the aftershave Phil wears and the way his skin tastes at the end of the day, and Dan is in love with him, and he's leaving in three weeks.

"Oh, god," he whispers. He hasn't been to church since he left Omaha a year and a half ago but he almost wants to go, if only to feel less alone. Phil doesn't have a large apartment by any means but it feels far too vast now. "Oh Jesus fucking christ."

His cousin Lucy's boyfriend got drafted four months ago. He didn't know the kid very well - a lanky 19-year-old named Bruce, kind and soft-spoken and very sweet to Lucy - and no one's heard from him since he left. Dan feels sick at the idea of not hearing from Phil for months. He feels sick at the idea of not knowing if Phil's alive at all, if he's healthy and whole or injured or dead.

War's fucking horrifying. Dan's heard the stories, he's seen the news. He knows that behind the American patriotism and pride it's all a bunch of bullshit. All the death and the bloodshed and the violence is for fucking nothing. At the end of the day, Phil's death won't matter at all.

Dan hates that he's already killed Phil off in his head, accepted (or at least acknowledged) that Phil is probably going to die. But that's easier than the alternative, than keeping up hope and getting his feet knocked out from under him when the inevitable happens and Phil's remains come home in a box. He'd rather accept it now than fight through it later.

His stomach is churning and his mouth tastes sharp, like metal and bile. He swallows hard, breathes heavy and shaky into Phil's pillow. The phone in the kitchen rings but he can't bring himself to move, lets it ring and ring. The shrill sound echoes through the apartment and drills into Dan's skull. He tugs Phil's duvet up over his head viciously and curls in on himself and lets himself cry. It's not angry anymore, just resigned, tiny whimpering sobs that sound pathetic in his ears. Snot threatens to drip out of his nose and he swipes his hand under his nostrils pathetically. He wishes he could just slip into sleep, sink into it and forget for a few hours.

But there's too much to do, and real life doesn't stop, not even when your boyfriend gets drafted into the fucking army. If Dan was a girl things might be different (he imagines, just for a moment, going up to his professor’s desk and saying it, “my boyfriend got drafted” with a sniffle and a bat of his eyelashes, the soft pity that'd cross Dr. Matthews' face and the same extension Lily O'Donnell got on her essay two months ago when her fiancé went to war) but he's a boy. He's a boy and Phil's his secret and an extension only puts the work off for so long. He's still got to face the real world, today and tomorrow and when Phil leaves.

When Phil leaves. When he leaves, not if. When. Three weeks.

 

* * *

 

It takes nearly an hour but Dan manages to pull himself out of bed, tugs one of Phil's Oberlin sweatshirts over his head and makes himself a pot of coffee. The rich smell curls itself around the apartment and it makes Dan think of Phil, of how he can't function before his first cup, of how his voice goes rough and raspy in the mornings and how his eyelids flutter shut with happiness when he takes a long sip. It makes Dan's heart clench hard. He's so sad and so in love and his essay on the goddamn Battle of Bunker Hill isn't going to write itself.

The phone rings again and Dan heaves a sigh. No one ever calls except Phil's mom and the occasional bill collector, so there's no harm answering it. He figures he might as well.

“Hello?” he says, grabbing a mug from the cupboard and holding the phone between his cheek and his shoulder as he pours himself a cup of coffee.

“Hey, baby.” It's Phil and Dan can feel his chest crumbling again. “I'm not doing much of anything, I have a meeting in twenty but I figured I'd call. You doing okay?”

“It's been two hours,” Dan says, forcing himself to laugh. “I'm a big boy, Phil, I promise I won't burn your house down.” He stirs a spoonful of sugar in, then thinks fuck it and scoops in another. He deserves some sweetness on a day like today.

“Baby,” Phil starts, his voice soft and aching, and then he goes quiet. Dan's glad Phil has an office with a door. It makes these phone calls a little easier, the privacy allowing Phil to speak freely without fear of repercussion. “I just. We didn't really get to talk this morning the way I wanted to.”

Dan doesn't reply. He doesn't trust himself to get the words out, and even if he did he's not sure what he would say.

“Dan?”

“I'm here,” he says. He twists the phone cord around his finger, then pulls his hand away so it springs back. “Sorry. Can we talk about this later? When you're home?”

There's a long pause. Then Phil sighs softly. He doesn't sound exasperated, more just sad.

“Of course, baby. Want me to stop at the store and get something for dinner?”

Dan aches at the domesticity, at how easy it is. When he first came to Boston for school he was completely alone, all by himself in a city the size of which he'd never even seen before. It's totally different from the tiny town two hours south of Omaha where he grew up. He'd been alone, and lonely, and shy, and Phil had scooped him up and into his life like it was the easiest thing he'd ever done.

It's been a year and four months since, a year and two since they kissed for the first time, and Dan is in love with him and they've come so far, from meeting half-drunk in the bathroom of a dive bar to Phil calling from work and asking Dan what he wants for dinner. It makes something inside Dan go soft and gooey when he thinks about it.

“We have salad,” Dan says, pulling open the refrigerator and peering inside. “And I was thinking about making baked potatoes. We don't have to do anything fancy.” Of course they don't. It's not like tonight is special. Tonight isn't going to be anything good. How could it be?

“I can swing by and get pork chops if you want, there was a sale at the Shop’n’Save,” Phil offers. Dan frowns and shuts the refrigerator. Nothing really sounds appealing.

“I don't mind,” he says. “You can, if you cook 'em.”

“What kind of wife are you?” Phil teases. Dan tries to laugh but it comes out weak and he grimaces, takes another swig of coffee. It's too hot and it burns his tongue and he can't find it in himself to care.

“You haven't put a ring on me yet, Lester,” he says, pushing through the sting of the words. It's not like he's expecting Phil to propose. Dan's only nineteen, and Phil's twenty-three, and they're both men. This isn't forever and they both know that. Someday they'll both have to find a nice girl and settle down. The thought makes Dan's stomach twist. He doesn't want a nice girl. He can't picture a future with anyone but Phil.

He's been drafted. Dan needs to stop forgetting that. Phil's going to fucking Vietnam.

“Just be patient, baby.” Phil's voice is soft and fond and Dan's heart clenches when he hears the nickname. No one ever talked to him like this before Phil, like he's more important than anything else in the world. “I'd marry you right now if I could.”

Dan wonders what Phil's coworkers would think if they knew Phil had a boyfriend. If they knew he wasn't single, wasn't getting over a breakup, wasn't whatever lie he's telling this month. If they knew the way Phil holds him like he's something perfect, something special, his hands spreading wide across the small of Dan's back when they can cling to each other in the middle of the night and kiss without worrying about anyone catching them.

“I love you,” he says, and if his voice breaks Phil doesn't mention it, and for that Dan is grateful. “Now get back to work, earn your keep, Mr. Lester.”

Phil laughs, and even over the crackly phone line it's the most beautiful sound Dan's ever heard.

“Watch it kid,” Phil says. “I'll send you right back to the dorms with your tail between your legs, don't think I won't.” Dan can hear the smile on his face and he loves him, christ. He loves him more than anything in the world. He'd do anything for him. He'd go to fucking war for him, _instead_ of him, if he could.

“Yeah, yeah,” Dan says, and he tries to keep his voice light. “Aren't you gonna tell me you love me?” The flirting usually comes easy but it's weak today. He feels like they should be crying. He doesn't understand how Phil can act so normal.

“You're alright, I guess,” Phil tells him, then laughs again. “Kidding, baby. I love you so much. I'll see you after work.”

As soon as they hang up Dan feels wobbly, like he's going to burst into tears again, and he clutches his mug of coffee and forces himself to move to the living room and set up his typewriter. He has to do normal things, has to make himself act like his life isn't being ripped to shreds. He's got three weeks before anything really happens. He's got to be human. He can't fall apart yet.

The scent of typewriter ink bolsters him a little. He loves his typewriter, a battered blue 1963 Hermes 3000 that he's had since his sophomore year of high school, the first big purchase he ever made with money he earned all on his own. The keys make the most satisfying sound he's ever heard, a busy _clackclackclack_ that makes him feel like he's achieving things.

He wants to be a writer, maybe, although he figures he'll probably end up teaching instead. That's the thing to do with an American History major and an English minor. He doesn't mind the idea of teaching, especially if he'll be working with teenagers. He liked school once he started trying, and he wants to help kids want to try.

Phil says he'll be good at it. Dan's not so sure, but he hopes Phil's right.

Once he starts writing his essay on Bunker Hill he sinks into it, loses himself in the analysis of the politics surrounding the battle and the way it impacted the Revolutionary War. He writes and writes, minutes melting into hours, sunlight shifting across the floor, and he manages to finish his essay without thinking about Phil. By the time it's done, cross-referenced and stapled together, carefully checked over twice for mistakes, it's nearly two o'clock and Dan's stomach is growling.

He has a Shakespeare class at three but he's debating skipping it, because now that he's not thinking about the politics of the Revolutionary War all he can think about is people dying because of other people's choices. He feels sick again and he wishes he had more work to do.

He shuffles back to Phil's bedroom and curls up under the duvet, lets weariness curl around him and pull him into a strange sort of half-sleep. All of his limbs are limp and heavy and he's not quite sure what's real.

 

* * *

 

“Baby, wake up.”

Phil's voice sounds like it's coming from very far away and Dan isn't sure he wants to find wherever it's coming from. He thinks somewhere vaguely in the back of his head that waking up is a bad option, an option that will only make him unhappy. He frowns and tries to wiggle further into the soft warmth surrounding him but there are cold hands on his face and his eyes fly open with a gasp.

“Oh my god,” he says, breathless, his heart racing a mile a minute. He blinks blearily. His eyes are crusty at the corners and everything is dim and blurry and confusing.

“Hey,” Phil says, and Dan blinks again and the room comes into focus. Phil's sitting on the bed next to him, still in his work clothes, most of his face shadowy in the evening light. “Heyyy, Dan, hi, you okay?”

“Mm,” Dan mumbles. He rubs the heels of his hands across his eyes, a yawn stretching his jaw wide. “Yeah, hi, how was work?”

“Fine, lots of meetings. How was your day?”

“Wrote an essay.” Dan's voice still feels like marbles, rolling between his lips as he drags himself out of sleep. He's filled with a sudden sense of urgency and he reaches out, catches Phil's jaw in his hand and pulls him close to kiss him hard. “Skipped out on my Shakespeare seminar. Missed you.”

Phil lets out a soft exhale and kisses back. His hands slide around Dan's back and settle into their usual places, one at the small of Dan's back and one at the knobby part of his spine at the bottom of his neck. Their lips stick together slightly when they pull apart for a brief moment.

“Want to go fix up some supper?” Phil asks. Dan nuzzles into his chest for a brief moment before nodding and leaning up and in to kiss him once more. They linger in each other's spaces for a few seconds, breathing each other in. Dan's heart flutters when Phil's hand squeezes slightly on the back of his neck. “Come on, I want to put on a record.”

Phil's already turned on the kitchen lights and put the potatoes in the oven to bake, which makes Dan feel kind of useless. He isn't sure how he slept for so long.

“Sorry I didn't start cooking,” he says. Phil hooks his arm around Dan's waist and pulls him in to kiss him on the temple.

“It's alright, I like cooking with you,” he replies. Dan rests his head on Phil's shoulder and gets an odd feeling in his chest when he realizes how close he is to being too tall to do that. Phil lets go of him and taps him on the ass. Dan yelps and jumps away, his laughter loud in the tiny kitchen.

"What was that for?" he asks, all faux-indignation. Phil smirks. He's still wearing his suit from work and he's the sexiest thing Dan's ever seen.

"Put on a record for me, baby," he says, his voice low. "I've been sitting at my desk all day, let's dance."

Dan grins and moves over to the record player in the living room, grabs the Etta James record that's been his favorite lately, and places it on the turntable. Etta’s rich voice comes pouring out, dark and smooth and warm, and Phil closes the curtains before moving to join Dan in front of the battered old couch, setting his hands on Dan’s waist gently. Dan shouldn’t get blushy about this anymore but he can’t help it - Phil is so pretty, all broad shoulders and plush lips and dark hair, and his eyes are soft in the golden lamplight.

“You know,” Phil says, as they start to sway slowly along to _Anything To Say You’re Mine_ , “you look real cute in this sweatshirt.” Dan huffs out a tiny laugh.

“You just like me in it ‘cause it’s yours,” he teases. Phil raises his eyebrows, then bobs his head like he’s agreeing. “You like me in your clothes ‘cause it means I’m yours.”

“Caught me,” Phil confirms, his voice low, and Dan leans up and cups his face in one hand. His heart is fluttering in his throat.

“I love you,” he says, and Phil leans in to kiss him gently. Dan lets out a tiny whimper at the contact and kisses back.

They keep swaying to the music as it pours slow and rich through the record player and Dan wishes they could stop time and stay in this moment forever. He’s so in love. He’s so in love and Phil loves him back and this is more than Dan had ever dreamed of back in Nebraska, more than he could have imagined ever happening to him. He never would have anticipated feeling this steady and safe in the arms of someone else, and now it's being knocked away.

“Love you forever,” Phil whispers, right into his ear, and Dan’s whole body feels warm and soft. He rests his forehead against Phil’s, then leans in to kiss him again. He doesn’t want to think about what forever might mean now that Phil has to join the army. He doesn’t want to think about Phil joining the army at all.

His breath catches in his throat and Phil pulls him closer. Neither of them say anything and Dan is almost glad.

 

* * *

 

Thanksgiving break is the next week, and Dan decides he'd rather die than go back to Nebraska when Phil is this close to leaving. (There's a voice in his head that keeps chanting _eighteen days eighteen days eighteen days_ but he gnaws on his lip and drinks too much coffee and tries to ignore it.) He calls his parents and tells them he's staying in Boston, and although they sound disappointed they don't seem too surprised. Phil comes up behind him when he hangs up the phone and slides his hands around Dan's waist.

“Wanna come home with me?” he breathes into Dan's ear. He smells like soap and aftershave and skin and Dan sighs and twists around so they're chest to chest.

“We already are home,” he whispers. He trails his hands up Phil's stomach to his ribcage and cups his palm over Phil's heart. It beats solid and steady beneath his fingertips.

“I mean New Hampshire,” Phil clarifies. “For Thanksgiving, you big sap. Come on, my ma's a better cook than the both of us combined.” The tips of his fingers work their way underneath Dan's shirt and skim across the skin above his belt. “It might snow, Dan, I wanna see snow.”

The unspoken _before I leave_ stings, so Dan nods and leans in to press his lips to Phil's.

“Yeah, call your parents, let's go to New Hampshire,” he says. Phil's hands move down to cup his ass and Dan's eyes flutter shut, his breath catching in his throat.

“I'll call 'em later,” Phil mumbles, squeezing gently and making Dan whimper a little. “Come to bed with me first.”

“Bossy,” Dan teases, but then Phil kisses his neck and he goes pliant, lets Phil lead him to the bedroom and kiss him until he's straining up against him, begging for it.

They fuck slow and gentle and they take their time with it, Dan's face cupped in Phil's hands, Dan clutching onto Phil's waist like a lifeline. His breath catches in his throat with every press of Phil's lips against his skin and they come at almost the exact same time, their breathy moans combining into a soft crescendo that turns Dan's limbs into jelly.

“I love you, baby,” Phil whispers afterward, once they're cleaned up and curled around each other. He brings Dan's fingers to his lips and kisses them gently. “You're the best thing that's ever happened to me.”

“Who's the sap now,” Dan whispers back, pressing his lips to the tiny dip at the base of Phil's skull. His chest feels warm and full and golden and he's so fucking in love. This is all he's ever wanted, this softness, this post-orgasm in-love happiness that's filling every inch of his body as rain taps the window and Phil's ribcage moves slowly with his steady breaths.

“Still you,” Phil mumbles, and Dan wishes he could bottle this moment up and keep it forever.

 

* * *

 

They leave two days later, Phil's baby blue Ford Falcon loaded down with suitcases and, inexplicably, a gigantic globe.

“It's for my dad,” Phil explains when Dan glances back at it and arches his eyebrows. “Christmas present.”

Dan feels suddenly, violently sick. Phil's going to be gone by Christmas. He's leaving in two weeks, on the eleventh, and he's going to be gone for at least a year. It's such a long time. It's such a terribly long time, in such a terribly dangerous place, and Dan wants to cling to Phil and make him stay.

The drive from their apartment in Boston to Phil's parents' house in Littleton takes most of the afternoon, and Dan sleeps for a lot of it, the hum of the car soothing him into a state of half-waking and half-dreaming for the majority of the four hours. When he wakes up for the last time, the sun has set and Phil's face is lit only by the glow of the streetlamps that they're driving past.

“Hey, sleepy,” Phil says when Dan yawns and straightens up. Dan winces. He's got a crick in his neck from the way he was leaning his head against the window and his butt feels like it's made of solid wood.

“Hi,” he replies. His voice is croaky. He'd kill for a glass of water. “Where are we?”

“About five minutes away,” Phil says. Dan's stomach churns nervously. Phil's parents know about them, know that they're together, but he hasn't been around them enough to know how to act. If it were his family they were visiting he wouldn't even sit on the same side of the table as Phil.

Not that Phil would ever come with him to visit home. There's no way it would end well.

“They don't hate me, do they?” he asks. His hands are cold, the way they always are when he gets anxious. Phil glances at him, his mouth tilted soft and fond.

“Hate you? No chance, Dan. They like you a lot.”

“Even though we're....” Dan gestures between his body and Phil's with a nervous flutter of his hands. Phil lets out a tiny huff of laughter.

“Even though we're what, together? Even though we’re in love? You make me happy, baby, that's all my parents care about.”

Dan wishes the whole world was like the Lesters, kind and caring and welcoming to anyone who's kind and caring back. He figures the world would be a damn sight better if that was the case.

It starts to snow as Phil pulls into town, fat white flakes tumbling down in front of the headlights, and Dan feels a flutter of excitement in his chest in spite of himself. He looks over at Phil, who's smiling widely.

"I'm dreaming," he sings softly, and Phil grins wider, reaches out to link fingers with Dan between their seats. "Of a white Thanksgiving."

"Just like the ones I used to know," Phil sings back, and Dan smiles and settles into his seat and watches the town where Phil grew up pass by as they drive up a hill and turn onto Washington Lane.

Phil's parents' house is a meandering blue Victorian with a wraparound porch. They've already got a wreath on the front door and Dan's hit with a wave of fondness for Phil, and his family by extension. Phil starts the countdown to Christmas in September - Dan remembers him talking about it on their second date. It's ridiculous and endearing and he's so in love it hurts.

He and Phil get out of the car and Phil spins around in the driveway, his face tilted up to the dark sky. The clouds are heavy and low and snow is still spinning down towards the ground, catching in Dan's hair and brushing icily across his cheeks.

"I love snow!" Phil cries, his voice loud and joyful, more a laugh than anything else, and then the front door opens and someone's standing silhouetted on the porch.

"Philip Michael Lester, you haven't changed a single bit!" the someone calls, and Phil stops spinning and grins, lifting his hand up in a wave. Dan watches shyly from where he's still standing next to the car.

"Did you really expect me to, Martyn?" Phil shouts back. He walks back to the car and grabs Dan's hand. There are snowflakes caught in his eyelashes. "Come on, let's get inside. We can bring our bags in later."

Dan lets Phil lead him up to the front door, where Phil's older brother is still waiting. They haven't met yet, though Dan's heard a lot about him.

"I'm Martyn," the brother says as Phil ushers Dan into the house. The foyer is warm and full of coats and shoes. It's cluttered and chaotic in a way that clearly has a system, and Dan's immediately reminded of the way Phil's apartment looked before he asked Dan to move in with him. "The better of the Lester bros, don't let Phil lie to you any longer." He's grinning. The crinkles next to his eyes look just like Phil's.

"Watch yourself," Phil warns, but there's no heat to it. Martyn laughs and claps Phil on the back, then makes his way into the next room, leaving Dan and Phil alone. Phil turns in the middle of taking off his coat and raises his eyebrows at Dan, who's standing shyly by the door.

"You okay, baby?" he asks, his voice going soft. Dan lets out a long breath and tries to be rational.

"Just a little nervous, I guess," he admits. Phil steps forward and slides his hands around Dan's waist.

"You have absolutely nothing to be worried about," he says earnestly. He leans his head forward until his forehead is resting against Dan's. Dan closes his eyes and puts his hands on Phil's chest. He can feel Phil's heartbeat and it's so comforting, so familiar. He smells like cold air and the mints he'd been eating in the car.

"Promise?" Dan whispers, and Phil pulls him in and holds him close. It's times like these when Dan remembers that there's four and a half years between them.

"Promise," Phil repeats, and he kisses Dan on the jaw and pulls away. "Come on, get your coat and shoes off, Ma wants to coo over how tall you've gotten. She's probably gonna say you're too thin, too, and try to feed you a lot of cookies."

"I don't know if I'll survive," Dan says with a grin, pulling off his coat and handing it to Phil so he can hang it up. He still feels a bit wobbly and weird, like his intestines are made of spaghetti, but Phil seems so sure of this. There's no way it could go wrong.

The Lester’s kitchen is glowing golden with warmth, homemade rolls in the oven and a roast steaming hot on the counter. Phil’s mom turns around as soon as they walk in, her eyes nearly closed with how wide she’s smiling.

“Phil!” she cries, setting down the knife she’s holding and reaching out towards her son with eager arms. “Hi, sweetheart, how was the drive?” Dan hangs back a little, stays by the door and watches Phil hug his mom. The top of her head barely reaches his shoulder.

“Not too bad,” Phil says. He leans down and kisses her on the cheek. “Gas is a lot cheaper up here than it is in the city, almost makes me want to come back.”

“You’re always welcome,” she says warmly as they let go and Phil steps away. She beams over at Dan. “Daniel! Goodness me, you’ve gotten taller, come here.” Phil glances back at Dan and nods encouragingly. Phil’s mom is holding her arms out and Dan steps into them carefully. He’s not used to this level of enthusiasm at a family gathering.

“Hi, Mrs. Lester,” he says, patting her awkwardly on the shoulder. She pulls back but keeps her hands on his biceps and looks him up and down critically.

“Call me Katherine, for starters,” she tells him. “Second, Philip, do you feed this boy anything? He’s skinny as a twig.” Dan’s face goes hot and Phil makes a face at him, his eyes sparkling. Katherine lets go of Dan and moves back over to the counter, where she’s chopping up carrots and bell peppers.

“Phil, honey, get out of my kitchen,” she says. Her hands are clever and quick as she slices up the vegetables and tosses them into a large wooden bowl. “Your father’s in the library, go say hello.”

Phil leaves the kitchen and Dan hovers for a moment, torn between following Phil and making a good impression on Phil’s mom. He ends up staying, because he’s only been to Phil’s parents’ house once before and he’s not sure he’ll be able to find the library on his own.

“Is there anything I can do to help?” he asks. He hopes he doesn’t sound as nervous as he feels.

“Aren’t you sweet,” Katherin says. She grabs the salad bowl and turns around, holding it out for Dan to take. Her smile is just like Phil’s, bright and genuine, the skin at the corners of her eyes crinkling up. “Could you put this on the table in the dining room? That would be lovely. And then it’s just a few more minutes on this bread and we can all have a nice supper.”

Dan feels more comfortable already. Katherine and Phil are remarkably alike. They both exude warmth and familiarity. They both love like it’s easy and not something that has to be doled out with caution. It makes something in Dan’s chest go weird and tight.

“Sure,” he says. He takes the salad into the next room and sinks down onto one of the chairs, breathing deep. Snow is whirling past the window and the radiator is humming and there's a pine scented candle burning on the center of the table. Everything in this house feels very calm.

The door to the dining room opens and a petite woman with dark red curly hair charges inside. Dan's never met her before but he recognizes her from the Christmas card Martyn sent Phil last year.

"Hi!" she says, throwing herself down on the chair next to him. She's tiny but Dan can tell that she's the kind of person who absolutely fills up a room. "You must be Dan, I'm Cornelia, I've heard so much about you." She sticks out her hand and Dan hesitates, then reaches out and shakes it. There's an engagement ring on her finger and she's got a firm, solid grip despite her hand being half the size of his own.

"Oh really?" he asks. His voice sounds a little weak and he tries to laugh it off. Nervousness is churning in his belly. "Only good things, hopefully."

"The best," Cornelia reassures him. She smiles. Her eyes are warm and sparkling as she leans in conspiratorially. "Phil thinks the world of you, you know."

Dan's heart does something of a backflip into his stomach and he blushes, his ears burning pink as he looks down at his knees. Cornelia giggles and sits up straight, grabbing the pine candle and wafting the fragrant smoke towards her face.

"I'm serious," she adds. Dan smiles. "His letters are entirely about you. Dan said this, Dan's doing that, me and Dan went to such and such event yesterday. You're his whole world."

Dan has no idea how to respond. Even if he did he's not sure he'd be able to - his chest is clenching up and there's a lump of fondness in his throat. He rubs his finger across the outside seam of his jeans and bites his lip.

"He's mine, too," he admits after a few seconds. His heart feels too heavy for the fragile bones of his ribcage. They've only got two weeks. He wishes he could forget but it's constantly on his mind, numbers clicking down to the end. "I - yeah." Cornelia beams, then stands up and moves into the kitchen. For the first time all day, Dan is actually on his own, and he slumps forward to rest his head on his arms. He's caught between happiness that he's here and devastation that this might be the last time Phil sees his family. He can't stop thinking about it. He wonders if he'll be invited to the funeral, and if Phil will be buried here or in Boston.

"Shit," he mumbles. He sits up straight and pushes the heels of his hands over his eyes. This has to stop. He needs to get himself together.

The door to the dining room opens and Katherine walks in, carrying a platter of roasted potatoes and parsnips in one hand and a steaming basket of fresh rolls in the other.

"Dinner's in just a minute," she says, setting the food down and bustling over to the other door. She opens it and yells down the hall. "Nigel! Get those sons of ours in here, this roast'll go cold!" She smiles warmly at Dan before moving back into the kitchen. Dan feels tremendously awkward. He thinks he should probably offer to help, but he'd be more of a hassle than anything at this point.

He's saved from his inner conflict by the door crashing open and Phil and Martyn charging into the dining room, laughing so hard their faces have gone pink. Phil's dad follows behind, looking very pleased with himself. He has gray hair and a cheerful face and ruddy cheeks and he exudes warmth the same way Katherine does.

"Daniel!" he says. His voice is a low boom and Dan's mind immediately jumps to Santa Claus. "Good to see you, kid, we're glad you could make it."

"Thank you for having me," Dan replies. His voice sounds too polite, stiff almost, and Phil runs his hand soothingly down Dan's back when he sits down in the chair next to him. Cornelia careens into the room with a handful of wine glasses and a bottle of red wine, closely followed by Katherine, who's carrying the pot roast carefully in front of her. Martyn sits down across from Dan and grins.

"Phil was telling us all about your trip to the beach, sounds like it was a lot of fun," he says, and Dan can tell he's trying to make him feel included and he appreciates that but he also sort of wishes they'd let him melt into the background until he feels comfortable enough to add to the conversation. He swallows hard and grabs Phil's hand under the table, squeezing his fingers tight.

"Yeah," he says gamely. "It was fun. Phil looked like a lobster by the end of the week, but it was fun." Martyn and Nigel both laugh. Phil rubs his thumb slowly across Dan's as Cornelia pours them all glasses of wine.

Dinner is delicious. Katherine's an incredible cook and Dan's starving, and the conversation gets easier for him to join in on as the evening progresses. No one brings up the war, or the fact that Phil's leaving in fifteen days, and Dan almost manages to stop thinking about it.

Dessert is a bowl full of pretzels dipped in chocolate and gigantic steaming mugs of hot cocoa piled high with whipped cream, and by that time Dan is attempting to stifle yawns with little success. They've moved to the living room, where there's a nice little fire in the fireplace and a Patti Page album crooning softly on the record player. Snow is still tumbling down outside and the whirling eddies of flakes are hypnotizing him a little bit.

"We might head to bed," Phil says when Dan yawns for the sixth time and leans his head on Phil's shoulder. The couch is so soft and he's so warm. He thinks he could probably fall asleep right here. "We've had a long day." Katherine smiles fondly and nods.

"Your room is all ready for you," she says. Phil stands up and kisses her cheek goodnight, then holds out his hand for Dan to grab. "Goodnight, boys."

"Goodnight," Dan remembers to say as Phil leads him out of the living room and upstairs.

Phil's childhood bedroom is painted a pretty shade of blue and there's still posters on the walls. There's one of the Beatles, fresh off the airplane from England, one of Marilyn Monroe pouting prettily at the camera, and several of Superman standing in dramatic poses with bold print splashed across them. The wall next to Phil's bed is covered by a whole scrapbook's worth of newspaper clippings and photos about everything NASA got up to in the late 50's. A small collection of trophies and blue ribbons sits on top of the chest of drawers, and the quilt on top of the bed has alternating patches of bright green and sky blue. Three large windows look out into the back yard, a long expanse of grass and flower beds that are quickly becoming obscured by snow, and there's a desk and a bookshelf on the opposite wall.

"It's not much," Phil says as he closes the door behind them and turns on the bedside light.

"It's nice," Dan says, and he means it. The room is small and cozy and very Phil. He can imagine Phil growing up here.

"I like our room better," Phil tells him. He pulls off his sweater, the tshirt underneath lifting a little to expose a strip of pale skin. Phil notices Dan looking and smirks. "My eyes are up here, Howell."

"Less interesting," Dan says. Phil huffs out a laugh and pulls Dan close, his hands slipping under the hem of Dan's shirt and up the skin of his back.

"Hi, baby," Phil whispers, and something in Dan's chest melts. Phil backs him up until his legs hit the bed and they both fall onto it.

"Hi," Dan whispers back. He loops his arms around Phil's neck and pulls him down for a kiss. "I missed you."

They've been together all day but he knows Phil knows what he means. They're used to living in a little bubble by themselves. Phil's family is welcoming and kind and funny but being here with them is starkly different to being alone together the way they usually are.

"Thank you for coming up with me," Phil says as he slowly and methodically unbuttons Dan's shirt. "Here, sit up." Dan obeys and Phil slides his shirt off his shoulders, then tosses it gently to the floor and leans in to press a kiss to the smooth skin at the center of Dan's chest. Dan yawns again, so wide his jaw makes a satisfying little popping noise, and Phil laughs and rolls to the side.

“Hey, no,” Dan mumbles. He tugs on Phil’s arm. “Kiss me.”

“I don’t want to kiss someone who’s about a second away from falling asleep,” Phil says fondly. He yawns. “Anyway, I’m tired too. We should go to bed."

The bed is almost too small for the two of them to be comfortable. Dan's six foot, Phil another two inches taller, and they have to curl up into each other to fit without Phil dangling off the side of the bed or Dan being crushed against the wall. It's nice though, the closeness. Dan tucks himself into Phil's arms, his back to Phil's chest, their bodies touching from torso to feet. The quilt is warm and Phil's breathing is slow and steady and Dan can feel himself being pulled under by tantalizing tendrils of sleep.

"I love you," Phil whispers against his neck, so soft that he might not have said it at all. Dan sighs contentedly and nuzzles backwards a little, mumbles "love you too" and slips into slumber before he can form another coherent thought.

 

* * *

 

When Dan wakes up the next morning the house is very quiet. Phil’s bedroom is full of the bright light that comes after a heavy snowfall and Dan’s alone in Phil’s bed, curled up around the pillow that Phil slept on. The radiator next to the bed is humming and Dan is remarkably comfortable, if slightly disoriented.

He sits up and stretches his arms towards the ceiling so his back cracks, then clambers out of bed and shuffles over to the dresser drawer on the other side of the room. Phil had deposited their suitcases there last evening after dinner, before the snow started getting heavy.

Dan grabs a sweater out of Phil’s suitcase, considers putting on jeans, then decides that he’s too comfortable in his pajama pants. The Lesters probably won’t mind. It’s a national holiday, anyway, and national holidays were practically invented for staying in pajamas all day.

He goes to the bathroom and splashes water on his face, then spends a minute staring at himself in the mirror. There are dark circles under his eyes and a tiny pimple is starting to form at the base of his nose. His hair is messy and in need of a trim. He looks tired and forlorn and young, and there’s a knot of sadness in his stomach that he can’t shake. He wants to talk to Phil.

He heads downstairs, his feet quiet on the carpeted steps, and pauses when he hears voices in the kitchen.

“He’s so little, Ma.”

It’s Phil, and his voice is thin and small and terrified. Dan’s never heard him sound like that before. He shouldn’t listen in and he knows that but he can’t help it.

“Sweetheart,” Katherine says, and then Phil lets out a soft, broken wail and Dan sits down slowly on the bottom step, his heart sinking like a stone through water. “Oh, Phil, honey, come here.”

“I don’t want to go, Mama,” Phil sobs. Dan can’t breathe. “I don’t want to go to Vietnam, I don’t want to leave, I don’t want to kill anyone. I want to stay. Please, I want to stay.” He’s crying so hard, his voice jagged and raw, his breath coming out in heaves that sound absolutely painful. Dan digs his fingernails into his forearm and bites his lip hard to keep from crying too.

“Sweetie, sweetie,” Katherine’s murmuring, and Dan knows she’s holding Phil close, folding him up in her arms like a rag doll and rocking him back and forth like that’ll help somehow. She doesn’t say anything else, just keeps repeating “sweetie” in her soft soothing voice.

“Mama, I don’t want to _leave_ him,” Phil chokes, and Dan can’t take it anymore. He stumbles back upstairs as quietly as he can and collapses onto the bathroom floor, locks the door behind him and lets himself cry.

He doesn’t know how much time passes because he’s not wearing a watch, but it feels like years that he lies there on the floor, staring at the ceiling and running his fingers along the clawfoot of the bathtub. Tears drip down the sides of his face and get caught in the hair at his temples. He can’t muster up the energy or the will to wipe his nose. His eavesdropping session has sapped the life out of him and all he wants to do for the rest of his life is lay here and pretend that the world doesn’t exist.

Unfortunately, that's not how life works.

Someone knocks on the door, two sharp raps of their knuckles against the wood.

"Whoever's in there needs to hurry up," says a croaky voice that Dan recognizes as Cornelia's. He stares at the ceiling for a few more seconds before pushing himself into a sitting position.

"Yeah," he calls, and his voice breaks slightly. He coughs to clear his throat, then says louder, "yeah, I'll be out in just a minute."

He stands up and grimaces when his legs fill with pins and needles, sharp and distracting. It must have been a very long time that he was sprawled on the floor. His reflection stares at him from the mirror, pale and puffy-eyed.

"Christ," he mumbles. He flushes the toilet as an excuse, then runs the faucet cold and splashes water onto his face, washes away the tear tracks and pushes his hands through his bedhead in a futile attempt to tame it. Cornelia knocks on the door again.

"Please hurry!" she calls. She sounds annoyed and Dan's stomach twists. He swallows hard and opens the door.

"Morning," he says to Cornelia, who's swimming in one of Martyn's Dartmouth sweatshirts. She yawns and mumbles a hello as she darts around him into the bathroom.

Dan trudges back to Phil's room and sucks in a breath when he sees Phil sitting on the bed, reading a Hardy Boys book. He closes the door behind him and leans against it, unable to look away. Phil's hair is falling forward in gentle dark waves and one of his hands is fidgeting absently with a stray thread on the quilt. He's absorbed in his book and he looks soft and sweet and beautiful and Dan's heart is shattering. Dan wonders how many times he'll feel this crash and burn and fall in his chest in the next two weeks, how many times he'll realize how much he loves Phil before Phil leaves.

"Morning," he says. His voice is small and the light coming through the windows is bright and he doesn't want Phil to ever leave this room.

Phil looks up and his whole face goes bright, his eyes crinkling at the corners as he smiles. Dan doesn't understand how he can act so cheerful when he was crying onto his mother's shoulder just half an hour ago, according to the clock.

"Morning, baby," Phil says. He marks his page and sets aside his book, then scoots over and pats the mattress next to him. Dan crosses the room and sits down, curls his arms around his knees and tries not to crack in half. "You sleep okay?"

This, at least, is something that Dan doesn't have to lie about.

"Yeah," he replies. "Yeah, really well. We should take this bed home with us." Phil wrinkles his nose playfully, then stretches his arms up towards the ceiling.

"Maybe not," he says. Dan makes a face at him. "I spent all that money for a nice big bed for us, and you want to take this teeny thing back to Boston! Kids these days. Just disrespectful." His smile is so beautiful, curving up widely at his own joke, and Dan wants to kiss him so he leans forward and presses his lips to Phil's mouth hard. Phil makes a surprised noise, then lifts his hands to the nape of Dan's neck and pulls him in so they can kiss properly.

It only lasts a few seconds before Dan feels everything welling up inside his chest again and he pulls away, his eyes prickling with hot tears. He tries to keep them from falling but fails and Phil's shaky sigh only makes it worse.

"I'm sorry," he says, slumping forward and burying his face in his hands. "God, Phil, I'm so sorry."

"Nothing to be sorry for, baby," Phil reassures him. He runs his hand in wide slow ovals up and down Dan's back. Dan leans into the gentle contact and drops his hands into his lap. Rests his head on Phil's shoulder.

"How many people are coming to dinner tonight?" he asks. The house is already starting to smell like roasting turkey.

"Mm," Phil says. He presses a kiss to the side of Dan's forehead. "A lot. Us, obviously, and Martyn and Cornelia and my parents. My grandparents on my dad's side, my dad's older brother and his wife and three kids, and my cousin Marjorie and her husband and baby."

"Jesus," Dan breathes. He yawns. There's still a cold ache sitting heavy in his chest. "I'm not leaving this room until dinner then." He wants Phil to himself for a while. He realizes it's selfish, when this is the last time his family will see him for more than a year, but he can't help it. He wants to lock Phil away and keep him safe until all of this is over.

"Yeah, that's fine," Phil agrees. He tucks his forefinger under Dan's chin and tilts Dan's face up. The simple movement takes Dan's breath away. "Hi, I love you." His eyes are soft and so, so blue.

"I love you," Dan tells him, and he reaches up and kisses him, achingly slow. Their lips are dry and they stick together a little and Dan hasn't brushed his teeth yet but it's perfect, and as Phil shifts so they're facing each other and pushes him down onto the bed Dan lets himself sink into how it feels.

Phil's a good kisser. Phil's a good everything, but he's an incredible kisser, and Dan sometimes can't believe that Phil wants to kiss _him_.

He runs his hands slowly up Phil's sides, the worn cotton of his t-shirt soft and thin under his fingers. Phil licks lightly at Dan's lower lip and Dan opens his mouth, lets him in.

The way Phil's cradling him in his arms is so impossibly tender that Dan's heart cracks, spills over, and then he's crying. Tears well up in his eyes and he lets out a tiny choked sob against Phil's lips. Phil immediately tightens his arms around Dan, presses him close to his chest. All Dan can think about is Phil's broken gasp of _I don't want to leave him_.

"Don't go," he whispers fiercely, even though he knows that'll just make them both ache. Phil's concerned expression drops into despair.

"Not today, Dan, okay?" Phil whispers back, his breath warm on Dan's forehead. "Please, not today."

Dan doesn't know if he can stop himself. He's overflowing with unhappiness and terror and all he can hear is Phil's cracking voice saying _he's so little, ma_.

But god, who is he to fight this one request, this one tiny thing that Phil is asking of him with a voice like glass?

"Okay," he breathes. Phil presses a kiss to the spot between his eyebrows, then the tip of his nose, then his lips. Dan kisses back but there's no fire to it. He feels worn out and limp, like he could sleep for forty years.

They spend the day in Phil's room, creeping out at noon to eat a small lunch in the kitchen before ducking back into privacy. No one bothers them, for which Dan is incredibly grateful.

Phil sprawls out on the bed and reads _The Lion The Witch And The Wardrobe_ out loud with Dan curled up next to him, fingers pressed against the curve of Phil's hip. His voice is low and steady and expressive and Dan gets lost in the fantasy world for a while. He wishes he and Phil had a Narnia where they could hide away, an Aslan to save them and two golden thrones in Cair Paravel to grow old upon together.

At three Phil's relatives start arriving, cars pulling up into the freshly-shoveled driveway and people piling out of them onto the porch. Dan tries to suppress his nerves as he and Phil get ready.

"You're sure they'll be okay with." He gestures between their chests with his free hand. Phil pauses in the middle of brushing his teeth, spits out a glob of toothpaste and raises his eyebrows.

"Us?" he asks. Dan bites his lip and watched their reflections in the mirror. "Baby, it's fine. I've talked to all of them already." He rinses off his toothbrush and fills the mug sitting next to the sink with water, then takes a gulp of it and swishes it around in his mouth. "You have nothing to worry about. Even if anyone minded, no one's gonna say anything at this point anyway."

The careless way that Phil says that stings, but Dan nods and finishes tying his tie. His reflection stares back at him with shadowed eyes and he wonders if he'll ever stop feeling exhausted down to his bones.

 

* * *

 

Thanksgiving dinner at the Lester household is a lively affair. Everyone talks all at once and coos over the baby and is excessively friendly to Dan. It's chaotic but it's nice, almost comforting. The atmosphere is warm and full of love.

When Katherine brings the turkey in from the kitchen everyone cheers. Her face goes pink and her eyes crinkle up with happiness as she sets the bird on the table.

"Happy Thanksgiving!" she cries. Nigel moves to carve the turkey and Katherine sits down across from Dan, shooting him a warm look. He smiles back, the knot of tension in his chest almost gone. Phil's hand is resting gently on his knee and everyone seems happy.

"Should we go around the table and say what we're thankful for?" Phil's aunt suggests. Dan doesn't remember her name.

"Yes we should," Katherine says, beaming at the aunt. "Good idea, Mary. Anyone want to start?"

One of Phil's kid cousins volunteers. He talks for a minute about being a Boy Scout and how it's taught him a lot, then finished off his speech with the _standard thankful for my ma and pop and brother and sister and dog_. He's probably ten, and for a brief moment Dan misses his little brother so much it hurts. He hopes his family is having a good holiday.

They go around the table one by one. Martyn says he's thankful for his fiancée and Cornelia blushes while the whole family coos. When it's Katherine's turn she smiles beatifically and says, soft and fond, "I'm thankful for my sons, and the people who make them happy."

Phil squeezes Dan's leg under the table and Dan ducks his head down to hide the smile that's growing across his face. The tips of his ears are hot and he's sure they're bright red, too.

When it's Dan's turn he mumbles something about being thankful that he's here for his first Lester holiday, and everyone nods approvingly. Phil goes next and he takes a deep breath before beginning to speak.

"I'm thankful for the meal we're about to eat, because it looks delicious." He grins at Katherine, who smiles kindly back. "And I'm thankful that I'm here with all of you, and I'm thankful for the snow, and I'm thankful that Dan could come up here with me for the holiday because I love him very much." Dan swallows hard and stares down at his plate, his face hot. He grabs at Phil's hand under the table and holds on tight. "And I'm thankful that I have the opportunity to defend my country and fight for freedom. I'm thankful that I get to work to make the world a better place."

Dan's eyes start to sting and he squeezes Phil's hand a little too hard.

"You're so brave," Phil's Aunt Mary says solemnly. Everyone else around the table murmurs their agreement. Dan feels sick. Phil shrugs.

"Just doing my duty," he says, and Dan doesn't understand how the man crying on his mother's shoulder this morning has turned into the man sitting next to him now. He glances over at Katherine, whose lips are drawn tight as she stares down at her plate. At least someone else is seeing through Phil's facade.

"Let's eat," Nigel says abruptly. Phil's Aunt Mary sniffs and wipes something out of her eye, then nods in agreement. Dan carefully slides his hand out of Phil's.

The food is delicious, of course, and the conversation is easy, and Dan lets himself fade into the background again. He speaks up occasionally but mostly he listens to the chatter, the voices of Phil's family rising into a cheerful crescendo every few minutes as they all talk. Phil glances over at Dan every so often as if to check how he's doing, and they flash each other small smiles and it's nice. It's a nice evening with nice people and Dan is as happy as he can be in a circumstance like this one.

 

* * *

 

Everyone settles into the living room after dinner and Nigel turns on the television to the football game.

"Who's playing tonight?" Dan asks. He couldn't care less if he's honest, but he figures being polite and feigning interest can't hurt. Next to him, Phil snorts. He swats at Phil's thigh.

Nigel beams at Dan.

"Oilers versus the Chiefs," he says cheerfully. "Not my team, of course, I back the Patriots, but anyone who's playing the Oilers is my favorite for the evening." Dan forces a laugh and pretends he knows what Nigel's talking about. "You follow football? I guess you're a Broncos boy, being from Nebraska." Out of the corner of his eye, Dan sees Phil trying to hold in his laughter.

"Uh," Dan says, his ears burning. Phil snorts again. "Yes?"

"Well, we'll forgive you," Nigel says cheerfully. "As long as you're a Red Sox boy."

"Oh, definitely," Dan lies. He knows more about baseball than he knows about football, but not by much. "Sox all the way, hey batter batter." He cringes inwardly a little. Next to him, Phil is shaking with suppressed laughter. Nigel grins and leans forward conspiratorially.

"Phil doesn't like sports either," he says, his voice low like it's a secret or an inside joke. "You don't need to worry about impressing me, Daniel." He winks, then leans back and settles into the couch, his ruddy face cheerful. Dan shoots Phil a wide-eyed look and sinks onto the loveseat perpendicular to the long couch, his face hot. Phil snickers as he sits down beside him.

"Good try," he murmurs in Dan's ear. "Very impressive."

"Shut up," Dan laughs. He pushes his elbow into Phil's side. "No one asked you."

Phil slides his arm around Dan's shoulder and gives him a gentle squeeze. He smells like aftershave and pine and his sweater is soft against Dan's neck.

Phil's cousins rope Phil into a game of Monopoly and Dan joins them on the floor, legs crossed.

"You can be the dog," says the youngest of the cousins. Her voice is very serious. Dan thinks her name might be Caroline. She has curly red hair pulled into two braids and bright blue eyes that look just like Phil's. "I'm usually the dog but you can be her."

"Thank you," Dan says solemnly. "Does she have a name?"

"Ralph," Caroline tells him, with the decisiveness that only a six-year-old can possess. She grabs a handful of Monopoly money in one chubby hand and shoves it at Phil, then grabs another handful and drops it into Dan's lap. "I'm the banker but Dan can help me. Phil is the hat. James can have the shoe."

"I don't want the shoe," Caroline's older brother whines. He's nine and his hair stands up straight on his head no matter how many times his mother smooths it down. "I want the car."

"You can't be the car because I'm the car," Caroline informs him, crossing her arms over her chest. "And Sam is the horse." The middle cousin, Sam, is eight, and very quiet. He shrugs and continues putting his Monopoly money into neat piles.

"Don't be bossy, Caroline," Caroline's mother calls from the couch, but Caroline just rolls her big eyes as soon as her mom looks away.

"You can be the boss," Dan tells her conspiratorially. She beams, revealing a missing front tooth.

"I like Dan best," she announces, patting Dan's knee decisively. Dan can't stop grinning. He loves little kids.

When he glances up, his breath catches in his throat. Phil is watching him with the softest expression Dan's ever seen. His eyes have practically turned into hearts. Dan blushes and looks back down at his haphazard pile of Monopoly money, then starts to organize it into tidy stacks so he can focus on something other than how much he wants to have a family with Phil.

Jesus, a _family_. He's nineteen. He's nineteen and they're both men and Phil's going to Vietnam and all Dan can think about is raising a small herd of children and puppies with Phil. In Arlington, maybe, or Lexington. Somewhere close to the city, but suburban enough to have a front and back yard. And a swingset. And maybe a treehouse, if he can convince Phil to try building one.

Dear god, he needs to pull himself together.

 

* * *

 

The Monopoly game devolves into Sam stealing money from the bank, James declaring that because he's a shoe he can't go to jail (Dan admits that the logic is sound), and Caroline racing her little metal car around the board, complete with engine sounds and loud cries of "HONK HONK!" Phil grins at Dan over Sam's head and Dan grins back. He feels comfortable right now. Happy, even. He's glad he said yes to coming up to New Hampshire together.

"Time for bed," Caroline's mother decides, shooing her children out of the living room and up the stairs. She glances back at Dan and Phil with a gentle smile.

"Thank you for entertaining them," she says warmly. "I know they're a handful."

"They were great, it was our pleasure," Dan tells her, and he means it. She smiles again.

"It was wonderful to meet you, Dan," she says, then hurries upstairs.

Phil scoots closer to Dan and slips an arm around his waist, then presses a kiss to his temple.

"You're good with kids," he murmurs. Dan leans his head against Phil's shoulder and shrugs slightly.

"I guess," he says. Phil kisses the top of his head, his lips lingering a little.

"I love you," he whispers. "So much."

 

* * *

 

"The car's all set to go," Phil says. He drains his cup of coffee, then sets the mug in the sink and leans against the counter. A shaft of sunlight coming in through the window surrounds his head like a halo, dust motes floating lackadaisically past his shoulders. "I want to take a shower but then we can hit the road." Dan swallows his bite of toast and nods.

"Yeah," he agrees. Phil smiles and walks across the kitchen to press a kiss to Dan's forehead.

"Okay," he says. "See you in a bit." Dan tilts his face up to kiss Phil properly, then leans back and watches him leave.

It's warm in the Lesters' kitchen, despite the blanket of snow covering everything outside, and the chaos of Thanksgiving has settled down now that the holiday is over. The house is back to comfortable quiet, with just Dan and Phil and Phil's parents left there.

The kitchen door opens and Katherine walks inside, glasses on and her hair loose. She pours herself a cup of coffee and puts a pot of water on the stove to boil, then switches on the radio and joins Dan at the kitchen table.

"Morning, sweetheart," she says warmly, stirring cream and sugar into her coffee. Her spoon clinks softly against the inside of her mug.

"Morning," Dan says. He takes another bite of toast and fiddles with an orange, rolling it back and forth along the table underneath his palm.

"Is that Phil in the shower?" Katherine asks. Dan nods. "Oh good, I wanted to talk to you."

Dan's stomach squeezes anxiously but he sets the orange back into the fruit bowl at the center of the table and folds his hands in his lap. He feels like a little kid waiting for a teacher to yell at him. Not that he thinks Katherine is going to yell at him, but. God. He has no idea what's coming.

"I have a proposition for you," Katherine says, and Dan's eyebrows furrow slightly. "Well, two actually. The first is that - and of course you can say no, dear, Nigel and I just wanted to give you the option - you're invited to spend Christmas with us this year. Phil's told us a little bit about your family situation, he said you don't go home much, and we wouldn't want you to spend Christmas alone in Boston." Dan swallows hard and opens his mouth, then closes it again. He has no idea what to say. It's incredibly kind of the Lesters to offer, of course, but Phil's absence will still be a fresh wound for all of them. He's not sure he'd be able to handle the silences, the spaces that are meant to be taken up by Phil.

"You don't need to give us an answer now, dear," Katherine continues. "I just wanted to let you know that it's an option for you, if you'd like." She takes a sip of her coffee, then smiles gently.

"Thank you," Dan says, and he means it. It's an incredibly kind offer and he's not sure how to respond, so he doesn't say anything else. Katherine nods.

"The second proposition is that Nigel and I would like to send you money to pay the rent on Phil's apartment in Boston." She says it firmly, like she's not going to back down. Dan's eyes go wide.

"What?" he says. "What, no, I have a job, I can pay it, I -"

"We want to pay Phil's rent," Katherine insists. "We'd like you to keep living there, if you could, so that he has something to come home to." The corners of her mouth go a little tight, but she takes a sip of coffee and lets out a tiny breath. "Obviously if that's too much to ask we completely understand. But it would mean a lot to us, and to Phil. And I'm sure his apartment is much nicer than student housing." She smiles. There are shadows under her eyes and Dan is suddenly, viciously tired.

"Yeah," he says quietly, his eyes shifting down to the tabletop. "It is. I'll do it."

"Thank you," Katherine says. Relief is evident in her voice. "And give Christmas some thought, okay?"

Dan opens his mouth with no idea how to respond, then signs a little and nods.

"Yeah," he mumbles. "Yeah, I will."

 

* * *

 

The next week and a half is strange and bittersweet. Time passes in jagged rushes and sudden stops. Dan's classes and shifts at the library feel years long and his evenings with Phil seem to end before they even begin. They kiss a lot - maybe an excessive amount, but Dan can't make himself give a damn - and fall asleep pressed so tightly together that Dan almost can't tell where he ends and Phil begins.

It's still not enough, and he cries in the shower when he knows Phil can't hear him, and far too soon the week of Phil's departure arrives.

 

* * *

 

Dan skips his lectures the Monday before Phil leaves. They stay in bed all day, kissing lazily and napping and holding each other close. Neither of them say much, because there isn't much left to say. Phil's deployment has been the elephant in the room for three weeks but it's worse now that the day itself has almost arrived.

They have sex, too, sometime in the mid-afternoon, their curtains drawn just in case. Phil sucks marks into Dan's chest and digs his fingers into the fleshy parts of Dan's hips so tight he leaves tiny round bruises. When Dan showers afterward he fits his fingertips to the handprints and lets out a long, shuddering sigh. He hopes the marks linger for a long time after today. He wants the physical reminder, the ache under his skin and the post-orgasm buzz in his bones.

When he pads back into the bedroom, towel draped loosely around his waist, Phil is sitting on the bed, his legs crossed and his fingers worrying at the hem of his pajama pant leg. He looks nervous and Dan's heart rate jumps.

"Hey," he says, dropping the towel onto the floor and walking over to the chest of drawers. Phil doesn't look up.

"Hi," he says, almost too quiet for Dan to hear. He looks up then, just as Dan pulls on a pair of black briefs. "Come here."

Dan obeys, clambers onto the bed and crawls over so he's sitting by Phil.

"Hey," he repeats once he's settled. Phil doesn't smile.

"I, um." He pauses, his eyebrows furrowing as he looks up and meets Dan's eyes. "I've been thinking, and I figured I'd better just, um. Say it." He pauses again and Dan barely manages to stay quiet. "If - don't take this the wrong way, baby, okay?"

Dan's palms are sweating and his heart is going a thousand miles an hour, jackrabbiting inside his chest.

"Okay," he agrees. His voice is croaky. "Okay, yeah, I won't."

Phil nods and tugs hard on a loose thread dangling off the inseam of his pajamas. It comes loose with a sharp ripping sound and both of them flinch a little.

"If you want to," Phil starts, and he swallows hard. "If you want to, while I'm gone, you can see other people."

For a few seconds the words don't register. _While I'm gone_ is clattering through Dan's skull over and over and over and his mouth gapes open for a moment while he processes what Phil said.

"What do you mean?" he asks finally. Phil frowns even deeper.

"I mean, go on dates, kiss a pretty girl, don't hold yourself back because of me," he says, solemn and earnest. A flash of irritation sparks in Dan's chest.

"Who would I take on a date?" he asks indignantly. "Who do I spend time with other than my classmates and my coworkers and you? And only one of those is voluntary, and you know damn well who it is."

Phil's mouth twitches downward and he presses his hands to his face for a moment, then sighs and looks at Dan again.

"I just don't want you to be unhappy," he says, low and aching, and Dan bites his lower lip hard and looks away. There's a bitter throb behind his heart.

"I'm going to be unhappy regardless," he tells Phil quietly. Phil shifts his weight a little. "You're going to Vietnam, Phil, I'm not going to be really happy again until you're home." He meets Phil's eyes, grabs his hand from where it's resting limp on top of the comforter and holds it tight. "And I'll wait for you every single second. I don't care how long it takes for you to come home. I'll wait for you."

Phil's quiet for a moment. Then he nods and reaches out to cup Dan's face in his hand. His thumb skims across Dan's cheekbone, his fingertips hooked under his jaw, and Dan sighs and leans into it, his eyes fluttering closed.

"I love you forever," Phil whispers, and Dan rests his forehead against Phil's and keeps his eyes shut.

 

* * *

 

Dan doesn't think he could get closer to Phil if he tried. His back is pressed against Phil's chest and Phil's arms are wrapped around his torso and their legs are intertwined. Dan's fingers are twisted into Phil's and he can feel Phil's breath on the back of his neck, warm and steady. It's almost five in the morning and they should both be asleep.

"Phil," Dan says. His voice is small and aching in the darkness of the bedroom. Phil rubs his socked toes gently down the arch of Dan's right foot.

"Yeah, baby?"

"Why, um. When you signed up for the draft, why didn't you tell them you were gay?" If Phil had told, he wouldn't have been allowed to serve. The thought of Phil skipping out on that chance on purpose makes Dan's stomach twist into knots.

"Because I'm not," Phil mumbles. Dan lets out a shaky breath.

"But you still. I mean, you fuck boys, you're not supposed to be in the army if you fuck boys." He sounds very young, like a little kid on the playground just learning to swear.

"I know," Phil says. He kisses the protruding bump of bone at the top of Dan's spine, his lips lingering the way winter does in March.

"So why didn't you tell them?" Dan asks again. It's urgent, suddenly, that he knows. That Phil gives him a reason. Phil could have _stayed_.

There's a long pause. Dan hears Phil swallow hard and pull in a long breath.

"I don't know."

It's not a good enough answer. It's not good enough and Phil's leaving in nine hours and nothing is good enough anymore. Nothing is enough at all.

"You could have stayed, Phil," Dan says, and his voice cracks, shatters, and he's crying again.

He feels like he's spent most of the past three weeks crying and he hates it. He hates this.

Something hot and wet drips onto the back of Dan's neck and then Dan hears Phil's shuddering breaths. Phil never cries but he's crying now and Dan's chest is crumbling along with his entire world. He twists around suddenly so that he and Phil are lying on their sides, face to face. It's too dark to see much of anything but he feels even closer to Phil now.

"I want to stay," Phil tells him, one hand in Dan's hair and the other resting on his hip. Dan grabs Phil's hand off his hipbone, holds it close and brings it carefully to his lips. Phil's fingers are long and delicate, the skin of his knuckles soft and cool against Dan's mouth, and they're both still crying, quietly like they don't want each other to hear it. "Baby, I want to stay with you so bad."

"Then _stay_ ," Dan pleads. He sounds desperate but he can't bring himself to care. "Please, Phil, please don't go."

"I have to," Phil murmurs. He leans in and kisses Dan carefully on the forehead. "Dan, I have to. There isn't any time to do anything anymore. There's nothing I can do except go."

"Please," Dan whispers. He feels like he's being snapped in two and he clutches Phil's hand too tightly in his own. The bones shift a little under his, thin and terribly fragile. "Please, Phil, you can't. You can't leave me."

Phil pulls him in and Dan curls up against him, his head on Phil's chest so he can hear Phil's thudding heartbeat.

"I love you so much," Phil tells him, and a new wave of tears crashes over Dan's head and overwhelms him. He sobs too hard to speak and Phil tightens his arms around him. "I love you, baby, I love you I love you I love you, I love you forever."

Phil's crying again too and Dan is so tired of this, of watching the most beautiful thing he's ever been a part of be dragged away from him. He's been happier in the past year and five months than he's ever been in his life and and now that happiness is being ripped away and none of this is fair.

He lifts his face to Phil's and kisses him hard, all teeth and desperate tongue, and Phil sobs through it and holds him so tightly Dan can't breathe.

They keep kissing because it's easier than talking, easier than breaking themselves open again and again and again over something that neither of them can change. Dan's breath is catching in his throat and fire is flickering in his ribcage and he wants Phil so much he thinks his head might explode.

"Can I touch you," he asks, voice hoarse and lips buzzing, and Phil nods. "Oh, thank god." Dan pushes his hands under Phil's pajama shirt and up his torso to his shoulders, pushes him so he rolls onto his back.

"I love you," Phil says, his hands settling onto Dan's waist as Dan swings a leg over Phil's hips and settles his weight there. Dan leans down and kisses him hard. "Oh, god, Dan I love you."

Dan pulls at the hem of Phil's shirt until Phil sits up and tugs it off, tossing it to the floor carelessly.

"I love you too," Dan says. He runs his hands across Phil's chest, rubs his thumbs against Phil's nipples and smiles a little, wobbly but real, when Phil sucks in a shaky breath. Phil's fingers are digging into his his hips and Dan hopes he leaves bruises.

"Baby," Phil says, a little ragged, a little breathless. "Baby." He doesn't say anything else, just stares up at Dan with eyes that look pale gray in the watery light coming through the window, and Dan wants to look at him properly so he leans over and turns on the lamp on the bedside table. Their bedroom floods with golden light and Dan's heart flips over a little when he sees how pretty Phil looks, his eyes wide and soft and his mouth kiss-swollen and hanging open slightly.

"Let me take care of you," Dan whispers. Phil's eyes flutter shut as Dan kisses down his torso, lingering at the softness under his belly button before sucking a hickey onto his hip bone.

"Baby," Phil mumbles. One of his hands slides into Dan's hair and Dan's heart flips over again, clenching and fluttering in his chest.

"Shh." He doesn't trust himself to say anything, just settles himself between Phil's thighs and hooks his fingertips around the waistband of Phil's pajama pants. He glances up from underneath his eyelashes as he tugs away the pajamas, the flannel soft beneath his hands. Phil's staring down at him, his eyes wide and glassy and full of admiration and love, and Dan's breath catches in his throat.

He pulls the pajama pants off from around Phil's ankles and tosses them to the side. They land with a soft thud on the floor and Dan settles between Phil's thighs, drawing his hands slowly up to his hips. Phil's dick is half-hard and resting against the soft skin beneath his belly button, and Dan almost isn't in the mood for this. He almost just wants to curl up with him, hold him and be held and never let go.

But god. After this it'll be a year. A year of waiting, of nothing but memories that will fade more and more every day.

(There's a malicious little voice in the back of his head that hisses _this might be the last_ but he ignores it, he has to, because he can't unravel now.)

When he wraps his hand around Phil's cock Phil lets out a long sigh and drops his head backwards onto the pillow. Dan doesn't move, just keeps his fingers gentle at the base.

"I want you to look at me," he says, his voice wavering a little more than he'd like. Phil lifts his head again, pink staining his cheeks like a porcelain doll, and tucks a pillow underneath his neck to make himself more comfortable. "I don't want you to look away."

"Okay," Phil agrees, a whisper that carries down his torso and settles itself over Dan's shoulders like a blanket. He swallows, nods, then leans down and presses a kiss to the crease of Phil's thigh. His skin is soft, dusted with dark hair, and Phil's breath goes stuttery when Dan moves closer to his cock.

Dan makes it slow. When he swallows Phil down Phil's sharp gasp curls around Dan's ears and makes his spine prickle with pleasure and pride. He's the one person making Phil grip the bedsheets like a lifeline. He's the only person who gets to hear Phil make that noise. He's the only person who gets to watch Phil unravel, reach his peak and fall back to earth like this.

He's the only one who gets to hear Phil whimper _I love you_ this way.

 

* * *

 

Morning dawns steel-gray and cold, the sky leaden and Dan's chest heavy. Phil's starfished face down next to him, one arm flopped over Dan's chest, letting out a tiny snore every few exhales, and the clock on the bedside table reads 10:34.

They've got three and a half hours.

Dan has a terrible urge to turn off their alarm and go back to sleep, let Phil miss his boat, keep him locked in their apartment until this goddamn war is over and done with, but he knows he can't do that. If Phil doesn't show up he'll be counted a draft dodger and sent straight to the front lines as soon as he's found. At least if he goes through proper training he has some kind of chance.

"Phil," he whispers, shaking Phil's shoulder gently. He doesn't get a response, which isn't surprising. Phil's a deep sleeper. That'll probably be a disadvantage in a war zone. Dan feels sick just thinking about it. "Phil, wake up."

Phil lets out a muffled groan this time and buries his face deeper in his pillow. Dan is painfully aware of the clock ticking away at their precious hours.

"Phil," he says more insistently. Phil groans again, louder, and rolls over, flopping his arm over his eyes. "Good morning, handsome."

"Mmf," Phil mumbles. "Hi. Coffee."

Usually Dan protests, pokes at Phil's side until he rolls out of bed and shuffles to the kitchen to make them breakfast, but today he obliges. He'd do anything for Phil today.

By the time he gets back to their bedroom, mugs of coffee in hand, Phil is fully awake, sitting up and reading over a letter from the army that arrived in the mail last week. His glasses are slipping down his nose and there's a divot between his eyebrows.

"Thanks, baby," he says when Dan hands him his coffee. He sets down the letter and curls both of his hands around the mug.

Dan shrugs. He's painfully aware of the clock ticking away the seconds and he has no idea what to say.

There's a long pause. Then Phil takes a quick breath.

"Do you want to come with me to the navy base?" he asks.

"Yes," Dan says without even thinking about it. Of course he does. It's an extra twenty minutes with Phil, of course he's going to go. "I can drive you if you want." Phil nods. He's still staring down at his mug of coffee and Dan is hit with a terrible wave of déjà vu.

"That would be good," he replies. Dan nods back. His coffee isn't even slightly appealing. He puts it on the bedside table and tries to ignore the buzzing in his ears.

Phil sets down his mug, then grabs Dan's hands and pulls him forward until he topples onto Phil's chest and wraps his arms around Phil's waist. It's not the most comfortable cuddling position, if it can be called cuddling at all. Clinging might be more accurate. Or holding on for dear life.

Dan presses his cheek to Phil's collarbone and breathes deep through his nose, letting the scent of Phil's skin settle over him like a blanket. Phil's hands run slow circles across Dan's back and shoulders. Neither of them say anything for a while. There's too much to say and not enough time to say it and there's a knot in Dan's throat that he doesn't think he'll be able to speak through.

"Breakfast?" Phil asks after a few minutes, his voice rough and low in Dan's ear. Dan nods against Phil's chest and sits up, rubbing his hands across his eyes a few times. They're swollen and stinging and probably red and he's so tired of this. He's so tired of breaking.

They leave their bedroom and make breakfast together in tandem, Dan boiling water for coffee and putting slices of bread into the toaster while Phil shreds cheese and scrambles eggs for omelettes. Their kitchen is quiet apart from the sounds of cooking and the rustle of their clothes as they move around.

"Want me to put on a record?" Dan asks as he pulls two plates out of the cupboard over the sink. Phil shakes his head and Dan wishes he hadn't. Silence is pressing in on them, heavy on Dan's skin and in his heart.

"Actually yes," Phil says after a minute or so. He sprinkles cheese into the eggs and folds them, watching them start to brown. "Yes please. I want to listen to At Last."

Dan's heart twinges, but he nods and moves into the living room to put the record on.

Etta James has been Phil's favorite singer for as long as Dan has known him. They talked about her extensively on their first date and Dan had pretended to know more than he actually did, just to impress Phil. He'd made a fool of himself but Phil had just laughed, the corners of his eyes crinkling up in the way that Dan loves so much.

As Etta's stunning voice starts to pour out of the record player, Phil sets down the plates on their kitchen table. Dan joins him, pours him another cup of coffee and hooks his foot around Phil's ankle when he sits down.

"I love this song," Phil says, _Anything To Say You're Mine_ soft and smooth in their ears. Dan nods. "It always reminds me of you." Dan blushes a little, then grins when Phil sings along. "I'll do anything, anything to say you're mine."

"You don't have to do anything," he says, more shy than he should be. "I'm already yours, dummy."

Phil nods.

"I know," he replies. His voice is quiet but it carries, settles on Dan's heart like a paperweight. "And I'm yours."

 

* * *

 

The pier is bustling with people and Dan doesn't think he can get out of the Falcon. His hands are clenched tight on the steering wheel, a white-knuckle grip he's too afraid to break. Phil is disconcertingly calm and Dan almost wants him to fall apart, if only to feel less alone in the abyss of panic that he's tumbling headlong into.

"I have to go," says Phil for the third time in the last five minutes. Dan's lungs are crunching like accordions, heavy and wheezing and folding down over themselves. "I. I have to go." Four.

"Please," he manages to whisper, and the word falls flat and Phil's lips twitch tight, the corners of his mouth turning down just slightly.

"Don't, Dan," he chokes, and then he takes a deep breath, shudders on the exhale and tucks his hands between his thighs. "You can't do that."

Dan doesn't reply. There are too many things that he can't do.

"Don't make this harder than it has to be, baby," Phil whispers. His voice is paper thin. Dan wants to scream until everything in the world stops moving. The end is pushing closer and closer with every soft tick of Phil's wrist watch. "Please."

"God," Dan mumbles. He lets his head fall forward so his forehead is leaning against the steering wheel as his eyes slide shut. "God, Phil. I can't even - I don't even get to kiss you goodbye."

He wishes he'd thought of that before they left the apartment. He wishes he'd grabbed Phil's waist and pulled him in and kissed the air out of his lungs, kissed him until neither of them could think or see or breathe. Phil doesn't say anything. Wind whistles outside the car and Dan shivers. His eyes are prickling but he can't cry now. He can't do that to Phil.

The list of things he can't do is too long. He's sure it'll get longer. He hopes living without Phil won't make it on.

"I have to go," Phil says again. Five. He tugs on a pair of black gloves and opens his door, letting in a gust of frigid air.

When the door shuts Dan feels part of his heart break away, crumble into dust. He shivers and opens his door too, joining Phil on the edge of the parking lot.

It's busy, soldiers and their loved ones everywhere, and the air is charged with something akin to celebration. People are holding American flags in their mittened hands and someone is selling hot apple cider from a stand halfway down the pier. Patriotic music is being piped out of tinny speakers. It's all very strange, and far too festive considering what's happening. What's about to happen.

There's still a tiny part of Dan that doesn't believe that this is real.

Phil turns to him and grabs him by the shoulders and looks right into his eyes. Dan swallows hard.

"I'm gonna come back," Phil says, and his voice is strong and steady and determined and Dan is so fucking in love with him. "I'm gonna come back to you, baby, and then I'm never gonna leave again. I promise, okay?" Dan can't move or speak. He's not sure he can even breathe. Phil's grip tightens on his shoulders. "Dan, I promise."

"Okay," he rasps, and Phil swallows hard and nods. His eyes flick from side to side before he pulls Dan into a bone-crushing hug.

"I love you forever," Phil whispers in Dan's ear, and then he lets go, and then he's gone.

 

* * *

 

The doors to the ship close and the echoing thud has a horrifying finality to it. Dan is frozen, surrounded by people who are cheering and waving flags, and he didn't even get to kiss Phil goodbye.

"Dan?"

The voice is familiar and it startles Dan out of his trance. He jumps a little, nerves rattled, and turns around. A short girl with a wild mane of blonde curls is standing in front of him, her shoulders curled in on herself, eyes wide and teary. He recognizes her immediately - her name is Carrie and she's in his Shakespeare lecture.

"Hi," he says. His voice is froggy and he coughs into his elbow to clear his throat. "Sending someone off?"

"My brother," she says quietly. She bites her lip, then sighs. "You?"

"My best friend." The lie stings but he can't tell the truth.

"I'm so sorry," she says. Her nose is red. Dan can't tell if it's from crying or the cold. "I hope you'll be okay."

"Yeah," he replies. "You too."

 

* * *

 

It's the worst winter of Dan's life. The days drag, weighed down by fear and misery and the slush that seeps into his shoes when he walks from Phil's apartment to school and work and back. He doesn't do much of anything, other than go home for Christmas break, which turns out to be worse than living alone.

"You meet any girls?" is the first question everyone asks after "how are you", and it makes Dan want to vomit.

"Not really," he answers. He presses his fingers to the spot high up on the inside of his thigh where there's still a tiny whisper of a bruise left from Phil's mouth. It's barely there and there's no residual ache anymore and that's terrifying. By Christmas there will be no physical evidence that Phil ever touched him, ever kissed him, ever loved him.

"Those North Eastern girls are all too liberal, anyway," Dan's Catholic grandmother says grumpily from the chair she's claimed by the fireplace. "No sense of modesty. Have you seen the clothes they wear? Young women in trousers, it's appalling!" Dan tries valiantly not to roll his eyes. If she knew what he got up to in his spare time her heart would stop.

"I like pants," says Dan's cousin Lucy, and Dan's grandmother snorts scornfully and turns away.

The ranch house where Dan grew up is big, but with so much of his extended family there it feels far too small. He feels like he's suffocating and all he can think about is how Phil is alone for Christmas, with no friends or family around him. His chest is caving in and he excuses himself a little after nine o'clock.

His bedroom is the same as he left it at the end of August, 1967, and it's hard to believe that it's been so long. A year and five months and everything in Nebraska has stayed the same.

Dan collapses onto his bed and winces as the springs squeal horrendously. He forgot about that. Phil's bed has slats to hold the mattress up. He's not sure how he's going to be able to fall asleep with the bed squeaking every time he moves.

There's a knock on his door and he runs his hands across his face, pressing his knuckles hard against his eyes before he calls, "Who is it?"

"Adrian," the person replies, and Dan relaxes a little. He and his little brother were never very close, due to the six and a half-year age gap between them, but there's never been any real animosity either.

"Come in," he says. His bedroom door opens and Adrian pokes his head inside.

"Hey, Dan," he says. His voice is deeper than Dan remembers it being. "Gram's making everything bogus. Can I sit in here for a while?"

Dan nods and sits up on his bed, patting the mattress. Adrian smiles, a twinge of shyness to it, and joins Dan on the bed.

"How've you been, little bro?" Dan asks. Adrian shrugs and reaches up to push his hair out of his eyes.

"Started eighth grade," he says. "Did you have Mrs. Howard? Her classroom smells like peas." Dan snorts. "It does! And her voice sounds like she swallowed a hairbrush."

Adrian keeps talking, about school and church and a tag football tournament he and his friends are holding during recess, and Dan listens and laughs when he needs to and nods every so often and lets himself zone out. His head is buzzing and he's so, so tired.

Adrian goes to bed around ten-thirty and Dan switches off his bedroom light, then climbs back into bed in the dark and lets himself cry.

 

* * *

 

The Christmas Eve church service is beautiful. Everyone is given a candle and a girl with a silvery voice sings _Silent Night_ as they're lit, and the sacristy is full of golden flickering firelight and the smell of fragrant incense. Dan sits in his family's pew and stands when he's supposed to and sings along and although he doesn't believe in God anymore, he finds a bit of comfort in the routine that he's known all his life. There was a tiny part of him that almost missed this.

Father Anthony beams when he sees Dan after the service, his whole face lighting up.

"Daniel!" he says. His voice is mellow and soothing and kind. "Back from Boston at last. We're so blessed to have you here with us tonight, son." He puts his hand on Dan's shoulder and squeezes lightly. "Your mother tells me you're working very hard."

"Of course, Father," Dan says politely. Father Anthony nods.

"Good boy, I wouldn't expect any less." He smiles again, his dark eyes twinkling, and lets go of Dan's shoulder. "God bless you, Daniel. Have a wonderful night."

It's snowing when they leave the church, fat flakes eddying down from the sky and beginning to build up against the ground, finally hiding the dead brown grass. Dan follows his parents to their car and tries not to think about Phil, spinning in his parents' driveway with his face tilted up to the sky.

 

* * *

 

He goes home on the morning of the twenty-sixth, after a quiet Christmas dinner with just his parents and his brother. They exchange gifts and watch It's A Wonderful Life and Dan barely manages to keep himself together. He almost wishes that he'd taken Mrs. Lester up on her offer, but then he remembers that they're feeling the aching emptiness as well and he's glad he didn't go.

His flight back to Boston is half empty and he sleeps most of the way there.

 

* * *

 

He sleeps through New Year's Eve, too. 1968 ends and 1969 begins and Dan doesn't even care.

 

* * *

 

A letter from Phil comes in mid-January, between the end of a blizzard and the start of another one. It's short, Phil's pointy handwriting covering just three-quarters of a sheet of notebook paper, and Dan reads it so many times he ends up having it memorized. He keeps the paper folded up in his coat pocket so he can read it all the time. The corner of the letter is stained with mud, and Phil's signature is smeared, and he drew a lopsided little heart next to I'll love you forever. Dan misses him with everything he has.

He carries the letter around in his pocket for three weeks before it starts to disintegrate, the paper wearing thin from the constant folding and unfolding it's been subjected to. Dan leaves it in his desk drawer after that, pulls it out and reads it over before he goes to bed at night. In a horrible twisted way it's almost a comfort to know that Phil feels the same lonely ache in his chest that plagues Dan all the time.

 

* * *

 

He gets a second job in February so that he stays busy, because being busy makes the heaviness in his chest easier to ignore. He works in the library on campus in the morning, goes to classes in the afternoon, waits tables in the evening, falls into bed at half past one every night, and wakes up again at seven to get ready for class. He's exhausted down to his bones and he hasn't had a spare minute to himself since December.

The weariness feels good, most of the time. It makes Dan feel human, like he's more than the raw aching emptiness behind his ribcage. It's certainly better than crying to Etta James records and holding Phil's sweaters to his nose in a desperate attempt to feel less alone. He still does that, but there's less time for it, and he's mostly glad.

Missing Phil is a constant throb in his chest. He's never been so consistently sad in his life.

He's in the library and it's 8:30 in the morning on a Thursday, so there's not many people around yet. Sleet is crashing against the windows and he's wandering aimlessly through the stacks, pushing a cart of books in front of him. He has no idea where any of them are supposed to go, because he hasn't actually looked. Everything is sort of foggy today, slow-moving and sad, and it's hard to make himself care about anything, least of all where to put books about common law.

Someone a few aisles over lets out a bright burst of laughter and someone else shushes them hurriedly, giggling while they do so. It reminds Dan of Phil (everything reminds Dan of Phil and this shouldn't surprise him anymore, and it shouldn't hurt, but it does) and a knot springs up in his throat, sharp and sour. His eyes sting.

God, he can't cry _here_. How humiliating. He's a grown man and he can't exactly say _my boyfriend was drafted and I haven't heard from him in a month_ if someone asks him what's wrong.

He settles for abandoning his cart of books and rushing to the nearest bathroom, locking the door and sinking down onto the toilet to bury his head in his hands and take deep, shuddering breaths. A few tears slide down his nose and land on the knees of his pants, leaving little dark dots on the navy blue fabric, but that's all he allows himself. Crying at home is one thing. Crying in public is entirely another. He has a sense of dignity, for Christ's sake.

Five minutes pass, or maybe ten, or fifteen. Dan isn't sure. He leaves his head in his hands and keeps breathing deep, trying to stave off the wave of exhaustion that’s threatening to overtake him. For the first time in a long, long time, he wishes he weren’t in Boston.

When he feels like he can move without his world falling apart he stands up, splashes water across his face, and goes back out into the stacks to do his job. It’s what he has to do. He has to keep moving, keep working and studying and going through the motions, because otherwise he’ll lose everything.

 

* * *

 

Dan hasn’t opened his student mailbox in weeks. He’d sort of forgotten about it, with everything that’s been going on. But he has half an hour to spare and he’s right near his dormitory, so he figures he might as well see if anything important has been dropped off.

There’s a lot of junk. Brochures about college events, mostly, and coupons to stores he doesn’t even shop at regularly. A letter from his very Catholic grandparents in Missouri, which he’s not sure he wants to open. And then, right at the back, a battered envelope with the name Lester in the top left corner.

Dan’s heart jumps into his throat. He hasn’t gotten a letter from Phil since January, although that hasn’t stopped him from sending letters every week. (Phil's sent Dan two letters and Dan's sent Phil fourteen. He tries not to think about it, or the fact that it's been fourteen weeks. Three and a half months over with, eight and a half left to go.) He shoves the rest of his mail into his rucksack, then leaves the dorm building clutching the letter from Phil in shaking hands.

It’s bitterly cold outside but Dan barely notices as he charges across campus back to Phil’s apartment. It takes him almost a minute to calm down enough to unlock the front door, and as soon as he’s inside with the door closed he sits down on the floor and peels the envelope open.

There’s only one sheet of paper inside, covered in Phil’s messy scrawl. Dan’s heart feels like it’s trying to escape his chest.

 _Hey, baby,_ it starts, and Dan bites down hard on his wrist. His eyes are blurring slightly, already starting to sting with how much he misses Phil.

_Hey, baby. I miss you. Your last letter was great, it really helped me feel better about being stuck in a tropical jungle! It is HOT here! I miss snow, but I’m pretending I’m on vacation. It makes being sweaty a little more bearable._

_You would not believe how sweaty I am, Dan. If you saw me you wouldn’t touch me with a ten foot pole. I wouldn’t touch me with a ten-foot pole either, to be honest._

_Things here are pretty much the same. The guys were playing cards last night and I showed them that trick you taught me, they thought it was pretty funny. I wish I could tell them about you but they’d all be jealous that I’ve got someone so special._

Dan can’t breathe. He actually, genuinely cannot breathe, and he feels like his skin might shrivel up with how lonely he is.

_We haven’t had much fighting the last week. I’m wondering if it’s some kind of calm before a storm. Not that we need more storms here - it rains practically like clockwork. Between the sweat and the rain I haven't been dry since December._

_I’m scared, Dan. I didn’t used to be so jittery, but now someone turning over in his sleep scares the brains out of me. It makes sense, I guess, but I hate it. I hate thinking I could get killed at any second, but that’s just the reality of it now._

_I can’t wait to come home. I miss you more than anything, Dan. I miss you more than cupcakes and dry socks and good coffee and Etta James._

_I’ll write again soon. I love you forever, baby._

_\-- Phil._

Dan stares at the letter, at the spikes and curves of Phil’s handwriting, at the _I love you forever_ that Phil’s hands inked onto this torn-off piece of notebook paper. He can’t move, can’t breathe, can’t even cry. His head is curiously blank.

This is the first he’s heard from Phil since January 17th. It’s April 12th and Phil is - or was, when he wrote this - alive. Dan is struggling to wrap his mind around that.

He had almost come to peace with the idea of Phil not coming back. Clinging to false hope and living in limbo had been impractical and debilitating after a while, so he’d pushed forward and through. He’d mourned the loss of what was, and he misses Phil every day, but it had gotten easier once he’d accepted it.

Now, though, with this letter clutched desperately in trembling hands, the barriers he’d built up for himself are crashing down and he’s raw again, wounded and wanting and completely, horribly alone.

“Fuck,” he mumbles. His eyes are burning. “Fuck fuck fuck.”

Somewhere in the back of his mind he thinks that maybe he should call Katherine, but if he's honest he's not sure if he can stand up, much less hold a coherent conversation with his boyfriend's mother. She calls every Sunday but it's been harder and harder to talk to her, lately. It just makes him ache.

 

* * *

 

The semester ends in mid-May. Dan does better than he expected to on his exams, all of his scores landing in the mid-90's, and he lets himself be happy about it. He deserves to be happy for this. He's been sad for so long.

It's almost overwhelming, the happiness, but he lets himself feel it without guilt. He's proud of himself. He worked hard for this. And he knows Phil would be proud, too.

 

* * *

 

Dan's makes sure he's scheduled to work on his twentieth birthday. He doesn't think he could stand being alone. The library isn't very busy this time of year, but a few students are there for summer courses and there are always books to organize and put away. He shows up early and stays until close and trudges home with _The Hobbit_ tucked under his arm. When in doubt, he thinks, bury yourself in a fantasy world. They're always better than real life, anyways.

 

* * *

 

He's half asleep when the phone rings, his fingers curled loosely around the handle of his cup of tea, his eyes unfocused and his head drooping over The Hobbit. It's almost midnight and he's tired and The Beatles are playing softly on the record player, crooning about how _yesterday love was such an easy game to play_.

The shrill shriek of the phone startles him awake and his lukewarm tea spills all across the table, soaking into the newspaper he'd abandoned earlier. He hasn't been able to focus on anything lately. It's been nearly six months and Dan hasn't gotten a letter from Phil since early April. That's all he can think about. It's the only thing running through his head.

God. The phone's still ringing and Dan's frozen. No one calls this late at night. No one calls at all, usually, other than Phil's mom. It's just been Dan and his thoughts and hopes and dreams and fears in this apartment all alone for six months.

He forces himself to stand up, swallows down the bitter fear rising up in his chest – what if this is someone calling to say Phil's dead, what if this is the closure he's been so terrified of since December – and stumbles to the phone. It feels too heavy in his hand as he lifts it to his ear.

“Hello?” he says. His voice is raspy.

“Happy birthday, baby.”

Dan hasn't heard that voice in six months, and yet he knows it better than he knows his own.

“Oh my god,” he says, pressing a hand to his mouth as he slides down the wall. Tears are springing up in his eyes. He's full of an emotion that's totally new to him, something so overwhelming that he isn't sure he can breathe. “Oh my god.”

“Hey, baby,” Phil says again, and Dan starts crying, the sobs ripping out of his chest loud and uncontrollable. “Heyyyy, baby, hi, are you okay?” He sounds tired, his voice thin over the crackly phone line.

“You're alive,” Dan chokes out, and he's clutching the phone so hard he's afraid it might snap in half. Tears keep rolling down his face, hot and unstoppable. “You're – oh my god, are you calling from Vietnam?”

He can't comprehend what's happening, can't focus on anything but the fact that Phil is alive.

“No,” Phil laughs, and he's _laughing_ , he's not dead, he's laughing and he's alive and he's _not in Vietnam_. “No, I'm uh.” His voice goes serious. “I'm in the hospital.”

Dread slithers down Dan's spine, cold and icy and spreading through his skin.

“Oh god,” he chokes. His brain is going a million miles an hour, images of wounded and dying soldiers filling his head.

“I'm okay,” Phil rushes to say, and Dan feels completely off-balance. None of this is making sense. “I was wounded but I survived, I'm going to be fine, baby.” His voice is soft and deep and soothing and Dan can't stop fucking crying. “Baby, baby, it's okay, I'm okay, I'm coming home.”

Dan tries to picture it, having Phil home again. Not being alone anymore. He almost can't imagine it. Something is unraveling slow and slippery in his chest. He takes a long shuddering breath.

“Which hospital are you in? Let me come visit you. Let me – I want to bring you home.”

 

* * *

 

Dan hasn't been to a hospital since he was a kid, but as soon as he walks into Massachusetts General Hospital he remembers how much he hates places like this. It smells too clean, and the linoleum floors are too shiny, and there's a man talking urgently on the pay phone in the corner, his voice low and scared. Dan swallows down his dread (Phil's okay Phil's okay he said it himself he's _okay_ ) and walks over to the receptionist's desk.

“Hi,” he says nervously. The receptionist looks up at him and smiles, her eyes warm and tired behind her glasses.

“Can I help you?” she asks. Her hair is very blonde, almost white under the hospital lights.

“Um, I'm here to see Philip Lester?” Dan says. She flips through some papers on her desk, then raises an eyebrow at him.

“Are you family?” she says. Dan blinks.

“He's my cousin,” he lies. The receptionist smiles again and nods, then stands up.

“Right this way, then.”

She leads him down a maze of hallways to a private room, raps twice on the door with her knuckles. Dan's heart is caught in his throat.

“Mr. Lester?” she calls. “It's Amy, your cousin's here to visit.”

There's a pause that seems to stretch on for an eternity. Dan tries to breathe normally but he's not sure how well he's succeeding. And then a voice inside the room calls “come in!” and Amy twists the doorknob and Dan's chest nearly collapses. Phil is _right there_.

He shoves his hair out of his face and lets out a deep breath, then follows Amy into the hospital room.

“Thanks, Amy,” the voice says, and that's Phil, that's Phil's voice, that's Phil in the bed by the window, tucked under blankets and drenched in sunlight and looking smaller and older than Dan remembered. Dan steps forward, all the way into the room, and he watches as Phil looks away from Amy and spots Dan.

“Hi,” he says, lifting his hand into a small wave, and Phil's lips pull into a gigantic smile. Amy steps out of the room and closes the door behind her. Dan barely manages to wait until he hears the bolt click before he's lunging forward, crossing the room in four steps and collapsing into the chair next to Phil's bed. He grabs Phil's hand, then pulls until they're hugging and oh _god_ , he's so solid and real and alive. He's alive. Phil's alive.

“Oh my god,” he breathes into the junction of Phil's shoulder and neck. “Oh my god, oh my god oh my god oh my god.”

Relief is blooming golden and gigantic inside his ribcage and he clings to Phil's body, revels in the way Phil's fingertips are digging into the flesh on his hips. He turns his head slightly and kisses Phil's collarbone. He tastes like salt and skin and he's so warm and he smells so good, so familiar and safe. Dan never wants to move.

“Hi, baby,” Phil whispers, his breath puffing against the edge of Dan's ear, and Dan's eyes are filling with tears again. “Hi, hi, hi, I missed you, I love you.”

“I love you,” Dan mumbles. His voice is wrecked and he lets out a huff of laughter as the tears start rolling down his cheeks. “Oh my god, you're alive.” He sits up and moves his hands to cup Phil's jaw. His face is thinner than it used to be, with deeper shadows under his eyes, but his irises are the same silvery-blue that Dan remembers and his cheekbones feel the same under Dan's thumbs.

“I'm alive,” Phil agrees. His eyes are going teary too. Dan wants to kiss him more than he's ever wanted anything in his entire life.

“You're not allowed to go anywhere without me ever again for the rest of your life,” Dan tells him, and he leans in and kisses Phil hard. Phil's hand tightens on Dan's waist and he sighs into Dan's mouth and even though his lips are dry against Dan's it's bliss.

“God, Dan,” Phil breathes when Dan pulls away. “God, baby, I missed you so bad.” Dan keeps his hands on Phil's face. There's a part of him that's terrified that if he stops touching him, Phil will disappear. He knows it's irrational, but he can't help it.

“Yeah,” he says. His voice cracks and they both let out a wet sort of giggle. “I missed you too, you giant sap.”

He leans his head forward and rests his forehead on Phil's shoulder again, his hands shifting to rest on Phil's chest and back as he breathes in Phil's scent and closes his eyes. The room is sun-warmed and he can feel Phil's heartbeat beneath his fingertips, steady and familiar. He feels like he's being put back together with every thud of Phil's heart.

Someone knocks on the door to the room and Dan sits up hurriedly, scoots away from Phil and straightens his shirt and swipes his hands under his eyes. Phil squeezes his hip one last time, then tucks his hands under his blankets and calls “come in!”

The door opens and a dark-haired nurse walks into the room, holding a clipboard and a pen against her chest.

“Hi, Susan,” Phil says warmly. The nurse smiles at him.

“Hello, Mr. Lester,” she replies. She glances at Dan and nods politely.

“Is your day going well?” Phil asks. Susan nods again. “Great! This is my cousin, by the way. Dan, Susan, Susan, Dan.”

Dan lifts his hand in a short wave. He can’t stop looking at Phil. He's alive.

“Nice to meet you,” he says, dragging his eyes away from Phil's profile long enough to make eye contact with the nurse, and Susan nods again, her eyes crinkled up happily.

“Nice to meet you too. You're the first visitor Mr. Lester has had, it's nice to see him smiling.” Dan feels a pulse of pride at her words. He's making Phil smile. He's the reason Phil's eyes are so bright.

"I wouldn't miss it," he says earnestly. Susan beams at him, then directs her attention to Phil.

"You can go home today, Mr. Lester, if your cousin would like to take you. You just need to sign some paperwork and then you're free to go."

Phil's smile could light up the sky at midnight. Dan's blood is thrumming under his skin. Phil can come _home_.

"Great," Phil says. He glances over at Dan with shining eyes. "Yeah, I'd like that."

Susan holds out her clipboard and Phil grabs it and balances it carefully on his lap, then uncaps the pen and holds it clumsily in his left hand. Dan frowns and watches as Phil painstakingly signs the paperwork, his signature wobbly and childish.

"Why aren't you -" he begins, then breaks off when he finally notices the bulky bandage on Phil's right shoulder. He presses his hand to his mouth and tries to ignore the way his stomach drops. Right. Hospital. Honorable discharge. Wounded.

Phil hands Susan the clipboard, then waits for her to nod before he swings his legs off the hospital bed.

"Do you need any help?" Susan asks. Phil shakes his head.

"Dan can help me," he says. "Thank you, though. For everything."

She smiles sweetly and nods.

"Good luck, Mr. Lester," she says, and then she leaves the room.

There's a few seconds of silence before Phil lets out a giddy laugh and reaches his hand out to Dan. Dan grabs it and lets Phil pull him up so they're standing face to face, chest to chest.

"You got taller," Phil says softly. Dan swallows. His whole body is warm, like he's been doused in sunlight. "And your hair is longer." Phil lets go of Dan's hand and reaches up to trace his jawline gently. "God, you're beautiful."

Dan's voice is caught in his throat and tears are brimming in his eyes. They're happy tears though. Right now, in this moment, he can't even remember how it feels to be sad.

 

* * *

 

It's strange, having Phil home. Glorious, gorgeous, good, but strange. Dan wakes up at twenty past four with the sheets tugged off of his body, tangled around Phil's bare hips, moonlight slanting across the bed so Phil's skin goes milky white.

Phil's here. He's home. He's safe and he's home and he never has to go back. Dan presses his hand to his mouth for a few seconds, tries to stop himself from letting out a laugh. Phil's alive. After so long it barely seems possible but it's true.

Dan reaches out and pushes back a strand of hair that's flopping onto Phil's forehead. His skin is soft and warm beneath Dan's fingers and it makes Dan's heart feel melty.

Phil shifts a little and murmurs under his breath, his lips pale in the moonlight, and Dan leans in and kisses him softly at the corner of his mouth.

"I love you," he breathes, even though Phil can't hear him, and he lays back down, his hand splayed across Phil's chest.

 

* * *

 

 

He wakes up to the smell of coffee and it's utterly disorienting. At first he thinks maybe he's still dreaming, but then he sees the suitcase in the corner of the room and he nearly falls flat on his face with how fast he scrambles out of bed.

Phil's standing at the stove in just his briefs, the bulky bandage on his right shoulder bizarre and jarring to look at. His back is all lean muscle now, shifting subtly as he scrambles eggs one-handed in his cast iron frying pan, and Dan runs his hands across it, lingering at his hips.

"Morning, handsome," he murmurs, leaning over Phil's left shoulder, careful not to put any extra weight on him. Phil twists his head sideways and kisses Dan straight on the lips.

"Good morning," he says when he pulls away a little. He smiles and kisses Dan again, then turns back to the eggs. They're almost done. "Sleep well?"

"Yeah," Dan tells him, pressing his lips close-mouthed to the side of Phil's neck. "Really well. You?"

Phil twists the knob on the front of the stove to turn off the burner flame, then turns around and pushes Dan against the counter next to the fridge to kiss him hard.

"So good," he breathes. Dan grins against his lips. "So, so good."

 

* * *

 

The scar is huge. It's huge and terrifying and an ugly, violent red that doesn't look like it'll ever fade. Dan can't imagine how much a wound like that must have hurt, out in the jungle when Phil was running for his life. Bleeding out and in agony and alone.

"Jesus," he whispers. His fingertips hover over the puckered skin. He's afraid to touch, so he ends up pressing his palm to Phil's chest carefully. Phil's breathing is shaky. "Does it hurt?"

"Not too much anymore," Phil replies. His voice is small. "I'm very aware of it though. I can never stop thinking about it. And my arm gets stiff a lot."

Dan looks away from the scar up to Phil's eyes, meets them steadily and drops his hands into his lap.

"I love you," he says, very serious, the words sounding heavy and important in the quiet of their bedroom. "I don't wanna say I'm glad you got shot but I'm so glad you're home."

"Me too," Phil whispers. His eyes are glazed and his mouth is soft, his lips slightly parted in a way that makes Dan want to lean in and kiss him until he can't breathe.

He doesn't. He presses the pad of his thumb to Phil's cheekbone instead, cradling the line of his jaw in his hand, gentle and careful. He's a little bit afraid that Phil will break.

Phil swallows audibly and his eyes flicker away from Dan's.

"Can I put my shirt back on?" he asks. Aching warmth rises up in Dan's chest.

"Yeah," he says, his voice a little choked. "You don't have to ask my permission."

Phil climbs off the bed and pulls on the t-shirt he'd discarded on the floor. He moves slowly, like he's tired down to his bones, like every shift of his right arm aches. Dan holds his hand out to him as he turns back to the bed.

"I love you so so much," he says. Phil nods.

"I love you too," he mumbles. He looks terribly sad and Dan wants to curl up with him and keep him safe inside this bedroom forever. It's hard sometimes to remember that he doesn't have to go back. That this is real. That it's not a dream that they're going to wake up from alone.

"Are you okay?" Dan asks, and Phil hesitates before he shrugs.

"I'm home," he says, and it's not really an answer but Dan will take it. It's not a lie, at least. Phil's not okay but he's home. He's home and he never has to leave again.

Phil gets back into bed and rolls onto his left side, then tucks himself under the sheet. Dan settles in behind him, slips an arm around Phil's waist and presses his hand gently to Phil's chest. He presses a kiss to the top of Phil's spine.

"Are you okay?" Phil asks after a few minutes in which they do nothing but breathe, and Dan squeezes him a little closer. He can feel Phil's heartbeat under his fingertips, synced up with his own.

"Yeah," he says very quietly. Of course he's okay. Phil's home. They're together and they're in love and Phil's home. "Yeah, Phil, I'm okay."

 


End file.
